


Bottle Rocket

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Series: Worth It [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Casual Sex, Eventual Romance, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Season/Series 02, Roleplay Logs, Rough Sex, Sarcasm, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaking Around, Stiles has a werewolf kink, Stiles is Legal, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 104,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: So, Stiles Stilinski has no idea what they are. Are they a they even? Maybe? Possibly? They don't go on dates. They've never had a flowery love confession or any kind of touchy-feely talk. What they do is: Derek comes over, usually late at night, and they mess around.





	1. Cling

**Author's Note:**

> Hi new Teen Wolf obsession... meet some writing. ⌒°(❛ᴗ❛)°⌒ 
> 
> We consciously decided on changing the werewolf taking pain thing too bc we're trash. More pack interactions in the next chapters~ No big bad guys or anything, just a foray into exploring these characters. :3
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by ReallyMissCoffee ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

So, Stiles Stilinski has no idea what they _are_. Are they a _they_ even? Maybe? Possibly? They don't go on dates. They've never had a flowery love confession or any kind of touchy-feely talk. What they do is: Derek comes over, usually late at night, and they mess around. They fuck. They do the nasty and it's freakin' _awesome_. No one knows about it - about them. Stiles got that message loud and clear when Derek gave him a death glare after Stiles had tromped over to - heaven forbid - touch him a little bit more familiarly.

This is a secretive thing. It's for the night. Or inside the Camaro, in an alley, in his room, behind closed doors. That kind of thing. The pack doesn't know. His dad doesn't know. For the most part, they pretend they still don't get along.

They don't always fuck, though. Sometimes they just grind and kiss and bite each other and Stiles has no complaints if they each take their own dicks in hand and jerk off while they lay next to each other. Sometimes Stiles just sucks Derek off as quick as he can because Derek needs it.

Stiles doesn't know if Derek needs _him_ , but stress relief? Sexual intimacy? Stiles' magical dick? Stiles provides that. And it's really no skin off his back because he's had the hots for Derek Hale since he was sixteen and Derek wouldn't even look at him. It more or less goes without saying that Stiles is pack mom. Stiles knows the pack needs him so he can handle being Derek's booty call if it helps him.

Stiles wants to believe that it helps Derek, but it's hard to tell... They usually don't talk when they're doing the do. And when they do talk, it's all practical problem solving shit. When Derek climbs into his window, it's not always for sexy stuff. Sometimes it's for more serious plot stuff. It's Derek growling at him to do research and it's Stiles attempting to talk him out of crazy plans of claw first, ask questions later.

So when Derek's Camaro is heard parking a few houses down, Stiles climbs out of bed, hair all messy. He's only in his boxers and doesn't bother pulling a shirt on. It's been hot as of late. That's his excuse.

* * *

Derek doesn't know what this is, and that suits him fine, or so he tells himself. It's uncomplicated, as much as Derek's life ever is, anyway, and it's one gift horse he isn't ready to force to open its mouth.

Derek isn't doing anything wrong; Stiles is eighteen. He'd _been_ eighteen when Derek had thrown him against the wall and kissed the breath out of him, and he'd been eighteen when Derek had first fucked him, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in Stiles' slightly-longer hair, his teeth bared in a snarl.

It's good with Stiles. It's _surprisingly_ good with Stiles. For all the guy talks his ass off and refuses to ever shut up, Stiles is obedient where it counts. Maybe he'll undermine Derek in front of the pack on any day of the week, always butting into Derek's business and challenging him, but he gets all breathless and eager when Derek growls at him to spread his legs.

It almost makes the rest of it worth it. Almost. Because then there's still the _rest_ of it. The confusion, the sneaking around, the irrational sting when Stiles doesn't look at him during pack meetings, the way they butt heads when they haven't fucked in a few days, and the way Derek doesn't know what he's supposed to _do_.

So he does what's best for them both in this situation: he doesn't do anything. He doesn't tell Stiles any of the thoughts in his head, any of the quiet wishes. Instead Derek shows up at his house, usually when he's pissed or hurt, climbs in through Stiles' window, and fucks him stupid.

It's raining when Derek gets out of the Camaro, a few houses down from the Stilinski residence, but that isn't the worst thing that's happened today. Derek's jaw is tight as he shoots the rain a quick glare, like the sheer force of his anger might be able to move it, and then he locks his car, shoves his key fob into his pocket, and races for Stiles' house. Derek leaps up onto the roof with relative ease, landing skillfully (even if his shoes do slip on the slippery tile until he needs to brace himself) and all it takes is a claw hooking under the window for Derek to open the it and climb in.

He's soaked, but he refrains from shaking his head because he _knows_ that dog jokes are only seconds away when it comes to Stiles.

He looks over and is only slightly surprised to see Stiles up and standing. Derek takes a second to look at him, his hair messy from either sleep or laying down, his chest bare, his legs long, his arms surprisingly strong. Derek fights back the words that come to mind. Instead he reaches out with a wet hand and curls his fingers into Stiles' hair, guiding him into a quick, biting kiss that holds the same sting that Stiles' comments had at the pack meeting earlier that day.

"Bed," Derek growls.

* * *

When Stiles glances out of his window, he notices the rain. It's coming down pretty hard. It's a little pathetic that he's so attuned to the Camaro that he picked that up first. He's always liked the rain. It's like nature's free shower, but it's going to get Derek wet. Even though Derek will be fast jumping up to his window and crawling in, his clothes will be damp, his hair wet, his skin dripping. Stiles can practically see the wet dog joke leaving his mouth. He can see the glare that Derek would give him, too. Should he...?

He wants to.

It had gotten a little heated at the meeting today. Derek is probably pissed off at him for what he'd said. Derek had been brooding all day and is now going to take it out on him.

Stiles can live with that.

Derek is agile. He's practically perfected the leap on roof and sneak in action. Stiles is standing and waiting but he doesn't bother opening the window for Derek. Derek had been a jerk earlier and deserved it. When he hears the gentle thump of Derek landing, Stiles' body is already responding. Christ, it's like he never remembers that he got off in the shower before the meeting or that they fucked exactly four days ago. Damn hormones.

And it doesn't help that Derek looks hot all wet and serious and down to fuck. Stiles' room is pretty dark, but the street light from outside still helps him out. Instead of a wet dog joke, instead of a _hey_ , Stiles swallows as Derek looks him over. Derek seems to be in one of those moods that's not going to tolerate any of his sass so Stiles holds himself back.

And he's rewarded with a forceful kiss and a hand gripping tightly in his hair. Stiles gives an excited whimper when the kiss ends. He likes kissing. At least kissing with Derek. Stiles could definitely have some more kissing but the command stands and _bed_ holds more promises so yeah, to the bed he shall go.

"Clothes off, then," Stiles counters quietly. "While I like you wet, wet clothes suck, ya know? Chafing." Stiles pulls away and turns around to take a step toward his bed. His fingers hook into the band of his boxers and he purposefully slips them down slowly to reveal his ass to Derek.

* * *

It's nothing new. Stiles' words had been barbed earlier, and he'd clearly been frustrated with Derek's own attitude. Things have been tense lately, as while there's no immediate threat, they'd just managed to put one down a few days ago. Four days, to be exact. An Omega. Derek had torn its throat out when it had tried to lunge at Stiles in the Preserve, and Derek had thrown Stiles on his bed later that evening and fucked most of his lingering panic away.

Most of it. But some of it had remained and had slipped out in small, snide comments over the last few days. Derek knows he'd practically been itching for a fight, or for an excuse. So when Stiles had lashed out at the meeting, his tone biting, his words cruel, Derek had almost been satisfied as he'd had his excuse.

If this is what he gets, this is what he gets. And _fuck_ if what he gets isn't hot. Stiles' lips are warm against his and his hair is soft despite the dampness on Derek's skin. But it's the sound that Stiles makes when Derek breaks the kiss that makes Derek's jeans feel tight. That and the sight of Stiles' boxers slipping down his hips to show off his ass. That definitely helps.

Derek doesn't really want to waste time in taking his clothes off; he doesn't like the risk of getting undressed. He doesn't need to be an Alpha to hear the sheriff snoring quietly down the hall, and while he's quick, he doesn't want to be caught naked on the roof, particularly in the rain, if the sheriff happens to wake up. Derek _could_ argue, could fight to stay dressed, but he doesn't.

Instead he quickly sheds his leather jacket and then pulls his grey Henley up and over his head, tossing it aside. He kicks his shoes off, then his socks. It's been all of four seconds, and as Derek's hand goes for his belt, his other hand reaches over to touch and then cup Stiles' ass, giving it a small squeeze. It had probably been Stiles' intention, too.

" _Bed,"_ Derek insists again, and he purposefully waits until Stiles lays back on the bed before he undoes his belt and then slides his pants off. His boxers follow after a second, and Derek stands for a moment, half-hard, letting Stiles drink in his fill. He can scent the flood of arousal in the room, can see Stiles watching him even if Stiles can't _see_ him that well, and Derek lets his eyes glow with a hint of red (because he _knows_ Stiles gets off on that when he's not expecting it).

When Derek crawls onto the bed next to Stiles - who is laying more on his side, probably to watch Derek undress easier - he doesn't waste any time in reaching back, grabbing a handful of Stiles' ass as he drags him in closer with a low growl. Derek watches a drop of water from his hair land on Stiles' cheek and feels satisfied.

"Were you expecting me?" He asks, squeezing Stiles' ass, his fingers pressing into his cleft. "I could smell your arousal from outside."

* * *

 

Stiles knows that Derek undressing poses a risk, but have you seen Derek Hale's body? It's meant to be naked and touched and seen (and often). Most of the time Stiles doesn't ask for it either. Stiles will deal with Derek whipping out his dick through the fly and Stiles will deal with the annoyance of added barriers between them. When Stiles steps out of his boxers, he hears Derek move and shrug off the infamous leather jacket before beginning to undress.

Both relief and victory streak through Stiles. He wants to be able to touch _all_ of Derek tonight, to feel every inch of him. Stiles doesn't want the press of damp clothing while _he's_ completely naked. He doesn't tell Derek these things, that he wishes they could both be naked more, because Stiles doesn't know if he gets to have expectations here. If it were a relationship, sure. There would be comprises and communication... But this is a secret sex thing and Stiles doesn't want to complicate it. After all Derek has enough complications to deal with.

The touch to his ass has Stiles jolting because he's always been twitchy. Derek sees fit to remind him that apparently getting on the bed is super imperative and Stiles just huffs a "yeah yeah" under his breath as he kicks his boxers away and climbs back on his bed. He props himself up on his side, his head in his hand as he blatantly stares at Derek while his belt and pants are removed. If this was a relationship, they wouldn't need to hide and be quiet and Stiles could whistle appreciatively. He could hoot at Derek and see if he could get the grump to laugh.

But this isn't a relationship so Stiles remains quiet as he ogles the best he can.

When Derek is naked, Derek still doesn't rush to the bed. He stands there proud and knowing that Stiles is drinking him up. A flash of red eyes is seen briefly and Stiles' cock twitches against his stomach. Unfair. Derek finally joins him on the bed and Stiles is manhandled, Derek's hands on his ass pulling him closer and Stiles goes willingly. This is where he wants to be. Close and burning up with Derek and all his senses being filled with the Alpha (and it's shit like this that he doesn't think he could ever be brave enough to admit).

The question has Stiles' pulse picking up and he instinctively pushes into the touch by his ass.

"Heard your obnoxiously loud sexy car," Stiles whispers because Derek can still hear him easily. "Must be a Pavlovian response."

He gives a wry smirk to Derek. Stiles leans forward to brush a teasing kiss on Derek's mouth as his hands reach and rub down Derek's biceps.

"You wanna watch me finger myself open or do you want to do it?"

They usually get right to business so Stiles tries to stick to that.

* * *

 

They usually get right down to business, but that doesn't mean that Derek doesn't wish that he could take his time, even if just once. But the precedent had been set a few months ago, and it's not like Derek doesn't _like_ the sex they're having. Stiles is receptive and Derek likes shutting him up. The threat of being caught adds another thrill to it, and Derek knows he looks forward to these moments far too often.

But when the reality of their interactions outside of these moments is bitching and Stiles running his mouth and Derek shoving him into things in frustration, it's no wonder Derek enjoys these moments. The're uncomplicated. Nothing in his life is.

The kiss that Stiles gives him is teasing and Derek can feel the growl rising in his throat even as he swallows it back. Stiles knows how to make him move, how to get him to act, and this is no exception. Derek chases the kiss, though only catches the corner of Stiles' mouth. Hands squeeze his arms and Derek flexes in answer, aware that Stiles likes the reminder of his strength. But despite the irritation and desire warring within Derek, Stiles' suggestion both curls a mild disappointment through him as well as a bolt of arousal. The growl that Derek had been holding back slips free then, though he keeps it soft. He doesn't want to wake Stiles' dad.

"I want to watch you," Derek says lowly. "After what you said at the meeting, I think I'm owed that. But I'll help."

Damn right he'll help. Derek bends down and catches Stiles' lips in another, deeper kiss. This one isn't teasing. This one has Derek kissing Stiles' lips parted and licking into his mouth, taking even if just in this quickly-stolen moment because he knows Stiles loves kissing. As Derek kisses some of his frustration out, he reluctantly removes his hand from Stiles' ass and reaches for the side-table. It takes him only a few seconds to find the lube, and even fewer to hand it to Stiles.

But instead of making another comment, instead of insisting, Derek takes this brief in-between moment to lean down. He noses at Stiles' throat, breathing in the scent of him, then reluctantly moves down lower, where the collars of Stiles' shirts will actually cover. Derek scrapes his blunt human teeth over Stiles' clavicle and then growls low, sucking a slow mark into the pale skin. He _wants_ to make it higher, on Stiles' throat, wants to see it bruise and heal over the next few weeks, but he can't. Too many questions would be asked and Derek can't risk it.

* * *

 

Yeah, Stiles would love a little foreplay (at least he thinks he would) but there's the whole 'secretly getting fucked in your dad's house' thing to consider. There have been a few close calls, times where Stiles would get too loud and Derek then glares and silences him with a hand over his mouth and all activity ceases until Derek gives him the go ahead because Derek can hear his dad settle back in.

And a part of Stiles feels bad that it has to be this way, that it's all sneaking around and shit and lying by omission when his dad asks him about having a girlfriend, but he can't deny that there's a bit of a kink present at the threat of being discovered. Not that he wants his dad - or anyone - to discover Derek and him in the throes of passion, because he doesn't.

The answer (and the soft growl before it) has Stiles ducking his head down and sucking in a breath. Sure, Derek had been being uppity, but Stiles knows his comment had been a little too cutting. Before he can answer, Derek is kissing him like he means it and Stiles would rather be kissed than speak so he doesn't pull away. He lets Derek lick into his mouth and Stiles honestly lets himself enjoy the dirty kissing. He distantly registers that Derek is reaching for lube and his assumption is verified when the bottle is passed to him.

But Stiles doesn't get to work immediately because Derek is moving, his nose skimming down his neck and Stiles knows that Derek is breathing in the scent of him and it's hotter than it has any right to be. Stiles groans and tenses in anticipation when Derek moves lower because he knows where this is going. Stiles pushes into Derek's mouth, encouraging. He already has a few faded bruises and suck marks, time to redo one or two.

"Fuck yeah, Derek," Stiles murmurs. It stings, hickies always do, but it also feels really good - really exciting - to have Derek mark him. Stiles likes to marvel at the lurid marks left behind, how they change every day and fade until Derek gifts him new ones. It's the only thing that's always with him, a part of Derek's that he _can_ keep with him.

When Derek pulls away, Stiles sits up on his knees and uncaps the lube. He doesn't exactly feel comfortable enough having his ass facing Derek and he knows Derek likes seeing his expressions anyway. Lube is squeezed out onto his fingers and then with no further fanfare Stiles is reaching back to smear his hole with the cool lube. He winces at it, but it will warm up soon enough. Stiles focuses on Derek as his index finger teases his hole and he shudders when it pushes in. It's still weird to feel how tight he his despite usually having sex at least once a week, but he assumes it's a good thing that Derek hasn't broken him.

"How-how are ya gonna fuck me?" Stiles breathes out, trying his best to work his finger inside and also do a bit of dirty talk. Multitasking. It's a thing.

* * *

 

Derek wants to leave marks, _visible_ marks, where people could see them. He _wants_ to broadcast his claim, even though there is no claim in this. Sex is sex. It's stress release. Even if Derek's interest in sex with other people has practically waned, it's still just sex. Regular, eager, typically-dirty sex, yes, but still just sex. He has no claim on Stiles, even though he wants one, but Derek's done this song and dance before.

No strings attached is how he'd liked it the most after Kate. If there are no strings, there's no hanging yourself with them. But when he listens to Stiles' soft sounds, hears his excitement over being marked, Derek has to swallow the urge to mark him more, or worse.

His control is paramount. It always has been. He doesn't give in even if he wants to. Instead, once the mark has been made, Derek draws back and watches with rapt attention as Stiles gets up onto his knees and takes the lube in hand. Derek's answering growl is swallowed back, and in the dim light as Stiles gets himself ready, Derek looks him over. He can still see the faded bruises of the last time they'd done this, little bruises on Stiles' hips from the force that Derek had held him, and the faded, off-yellow bruises around his shoulders and his chest from Derek's teeth. Derek intends to make sure he leaves Stiles with darker ones, reddened and angry.

But for now, Derek watches. It's his turn to prop himself up on one elbow as he watches Stiles coat his fingers and then reach back. Derek breathes in the scent, already thicker in the air, and he looks up, watching Stiles' expression. Yes, he loves the sight of Stiles' fingers sliding into himself, but he likes looking at Stiles' face more. Derek's imagination is enough for him, and besides, he can hear the slickness and the wet, obscene sounds of Stiles rubbing the lube over his skin. Derek's hands ball into fists as he resists the urge to shove Stiles' fingers away and replace them with his own. To resist the urge, Derek reaches out for the lube and pours a drop out onto his hand.

When Stiles' voice breaks the silence, Derek looks up at him and wets his lips. Then he reaches over and gently takes Stiles' cock in his hand, giving it a slow, slick stroke.

"Hard. On your back, so I can make sure you stay quiet. You love wrapping your legs around me anyway; I can tell."

* * *

 

Being watched is... Fucking arousing. Stiles might like it a bit more than Derek actually fingering him open. Well, at least in a different way. It's Derek restraining himself and it's Derek's eyes not leaving him. Stiles drinks the in the attention and focus. Derek doesn't need the light. Derek's senses don't allow Stiles to hide. Derek can hear the slide of lube and the tight press of a finger pushing in. Derek's eyes can see how intent Stiles is, how focused his expression is - also how turned on he is, with his mouth open, panting, his pupils dilated and sweat forming along his hairline.

Stiles likes to talk, he's always liked to talk. If he's talking, if he's asking questions, he's not thinking and wondering and worrying. So he asks, he inquires on the position that tonight's fuck will be in. His first answer is Derek's hand wrapping around his fully erect dick and stroking slowly, spreading a little bit of lube. Stiles' eyelids flutter as his own finger halts for a moment. When Derek vocally answers him, Stiles bites his bottom lip and pushes his finger in completely.

"Fuck," he curses. Derek, for all he loves barking out orders, doesn't actually talk-talk much, so whenever he _does_ and it's something sexual in nature (and about Stiles), Stiles feels pretty ecstatic. And really fucking turned on. So he doesn't waste time in slowly pulling his finger out and pushing it back in. He's still far too tight and it doesn't help that he's excited and clenching around his finger wishing it was Derek's dick.

Stiles takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax as he works up to a lazy but persistent pace of his finger thrusting inside.

"Hard to... Hard to relax when I want you so much," Stiles grits out. "Feels like it's been weeks."

It hasn't. It's been four days but they only get intermittent sexy times and then they can't touch or kiss during the day or whenever they're around people and it plain sucks. Stiles' finger moves faster.

"Maybe I wouldn't... Get so snarky if you- if you fucked me more."

Yeahhhhh, this isn't the smartest thing to say, but Stiles just wants to see Derek more. It's not even about the sex, but that's all he's allowed to complain about.

* * *

 Derek's nostrils flare at the flood of arousal that washes over Stiles when Derek starts to stroke him, and when he apparently finally works his finger all the way in. Derek shifts, his dick laying thick and hard against his abdomen, aching, because he knows that expression. He knows the feeling, the tightness. He knows the way Stiles' eyes begin to roll back at that first deep thrust, and how he practically quakes when Derek goes down on him at the same time, or when he finds that perfect angle and it's all Derek can do to keep him quiet. Derek might like sex, but it's been a long damn time since he's liked sex _this_ much. There's something about Stiles, and it's more than their butting heads and conflicts, though that definitely helps.

The slick sound of Stiles' finger beginning to pump in and out of himself has Derek's free hand clenching into a fist again. He doesn't touch himself; Derek likes leaving that to the last moment he can, likes controlling and teasing himself while _having_ control over Stiles. Watching Stiles is maddening, because all Derek can think of is how hot he is inside, how tight, how much Derek loves making him lose control. Derek doesn't even notice his eyes beginning to glint red at first, but he catches himself before he loses it any more. It's hard, though. Stiles is visibly into this, and Derek both wants to shut him up and let him talk. Sometimes it feels like the only time they can be slightly candid is like this.

Stiles' words are over-dramatic but Derek drinks them in anyway, at least until that parting comment, about _suggesting_ that Derek fuck him more. Derek's eyes do glint then, obviously, and he feels the ache in his jaw that means his fangs are threatening to come out, but he regains his control on them at least, though not on his eyes. Derek squeezes Stiles' cock in his hand and gives it a sudden quick series of jerks, focusing his attention on the head where he knows Stiles gets sensitive.

"You want me to fuck you more?" Derek asks, though the question is obviously rhetorical. "You're insatiable. Was that what today was about? You wanted to get fucked _that_ badly?"

There's a growl in Derek's voice, intentionally ambiguous. Danger or desire? Derek has suspicions that Stiles likes it when he doesn't know whether he should be afraid or not. And Derek, in retaliation, leans in and bites at Stiles' chest, over one nipple, which he fully intends to flush so deeply that Stiles won't want to wear a shirt in the morning.

* * *

 

Stiles wants a lot of things. Yeah, more sex is on the list. Derek had been his first. That's eighteen years of no sex, well only a _few_ really that he'd been interested in having sex and capable, but anyway, his friends had been getting laid and he'd been left fantasizing about Lydia and then Derek, hot people with attitude problems and getting nothing. So, yes, Stiles would like more sex, but more than that, he'd like them to actually not have to rush for once. He doesn't want to only bang after midnight, to only kiss or touch in the shadows. It's bullshit.

At first it had been awesome and new and exciting and a great sigh of relief of _finally_. And it's still good - really really good - but Stiles is having a hard time with the off-time. With the waiting and wondering and hoping and so yeah, maybe he incites a little. He doesn't realize it at the time - he's not a complete douchebag. It's not his conscious intention to piss off Derek and then usher fake hate fucking in, but subconsciously? Maybe...

He sees a flash of red and it's both thrilling and dangerous and Stiles squirms and half-cries out when Derek seeks to punish him with his hand moving quickly and rubbing over the head of his cock. Stiles tries to compose himself, but he feels his body loosening around his finger and Derek's hand is still on his dick and even if Derek is pissed off at him, at least Derek is _with_ him.

The bite to his nipple silences any response Stiles may have tried to be forming. Pain blooms and Stiles closes his eyes as he shakes and bites his own bottom lip to keep quiet. His finger has stopped and it takes an effort to continue his ministrations but he manages it.

With all the different sensations assaulting him, when Stiles answers he's not exactly filtering himself. "Want to see _you_ that badly."

Stiles hears what he's said. It's not the most damning, but it could be. Perhaps to distract them, Stiles works another finger inside and he groans at the stretch.

"Bite more," Stiles pleads. He may not be able to get _The Bite_ but he wants Derek's mouth on him as much as possible. He also doesn't want to talk about what he'd just admitted.

* * *

 

That... isn't what Derek had asked, and even through the flare of desire and need and mild alarm, he knows that. His attention feels halved, because the little half-cry that Stile had let out had caused small creaks in his father's room, and Derek's attention stays split until he hears the snoring start back up as deeply as it had been before. When his attention returns fully, it's to the sight of Stiles biting his plush bottom lip. Derek feels a spark of something inside, something half-possessive, half-frustrated. He _wants_ , but he can only _have_ in the shadows, when the two of them are pissed enough or worked up enough that nothing else seems to matter.

Derek's going to ask about Stiles' clarification, though. He is. He's already drawn a breath to ask what Stiles means by that (because it sounds vaguely hopeful even if Derek shouldn't have hope in this situation) but then Stiles' arousal flares, Derek hears the groan, and the plea that follows wipes the desire away to do anything but comply.

Derek doesn't growl but the sound still rumbles in his throat as he tenses and then bites harder, feeling the faint threatening taste of near-copper on his tongue that warns that he's close to breaking skin. Derek stops there, shuddering at the knowledge that Stiles will carry _this_ bruise for weeks, and then he sucks, pausing only to nip and lick at the abused nub on Stiles' chest.

He monitors the sound Stiles lets out, watching it closely, but when he finally draws away from Stiles' chest and laps at the near-wound, Derek slides his hand down, releasing Stiles' cock briefly to do so. Derek moves down, cupping and rolling his balls for the sensation, but his purpose is to reach back, and he does. Derek doesn't press his fingers into Stiles' body, but he does touch near where his rim is slick with lube. Derek touches the skin, Stiles' fingers, and quickly checks how deeply Stiles has them inside of himself, and Derek's growl rumbles out again, low.

"All the way," he says, and presses his fingers against Stiles' hand, moving it up, pressing his fingers in just a little deeper. Derek bends down, licking a long stripe up Stiles' chest, tasting his sweat, his arousal. "You can take it. Or do I need to take over and show you how?"

* * *

More bitting. More of Derek leaving him with bruises. God, he likes Derek's teeth. His mouth. He also likes Derek's fangs. He wants to lick at them carefully, he wants to feel them graze along his skin and just hint at-- but Stiles hasn't asked (or begged) for that yet. He doesn't want to be turned down. They've only been doing this for a few months now anyway. Stiles isn't exactly super comfortable with asking for certain things, but they have time, at least he hopes they do.

And thankfully Derek doesn't ask, he _does_. It's what Derek has always been good at, afterall. The bite is painful, causing Stiles' breath to hitch as pain blossoms around the broken skin. His eyes are hard to keep open and it's difficult to concentrate when Derek's mouth is sucking to emphasize the newly formed mark and also licking and biting at a sensitive and rather sore nipple.

When the hand around his cock moves down, Stiles just gives an approving grunt as his balls are played with. It's still attention, it's still Derek's hand on him, so it's good. When fingers explore further back, however, Stiles shakes. And he doesn't know _why_ it's so fucking hot to feel Derek's fingers feeling around his wet stretched hole, but it is. It really is. Then Derek fucking growls and that has Stiles panting as Derek encourages his fingers in deeper.

"'Course-'course I can take it," Stiles grits out. "I take your dick, don't I?"

He then works his two fingers all the way in with a grunt and takes a moment to pause around the growing fullness. Stiles purposefully doesn't curl his fingers and go for his prostate. He's apparently really sensitive and it's hard to do it it when it's his own fingers. Instead (and hoping Derek doesn't ask him to), Stiles begins to thrust his fingers in slowly.

* * *

 

Derek's past partners had liked it when he'd taken control. In truth, he likes it too. Control and anger are his anchors, but Stiles - headstrong, opinionated, sarcastic - had been a wildcard. Derek hadn't known if he'd be demanding or desperate for his own type of control. That Stiles had given in (though not after a lot of hissed bickering) had been a relief, and Derek has slowly learned how far he can push every time.

Maybe they're not together, but Derek is slowly learning Stiles. He knows how hard he can bite before Stiles whimpers. He knows how long he can suck him before fingers start to claw at his hair. He knows how hard he can snap his hips before Stiles' ass starts to bruise, and he knows how long Stiles can handle Derek fingering him before his body starts to hurt with sensitivity.

He might not know Stiles' favorite color or his favorite food or movie, but he knows what matters for what they have. It'll have to be enough, and it is. Or so he tells himself.

Derek watches Stiles closely as his fingers find Stiles' hole and the sight of Stiles' panting goes right to his dick. He can see how sensitive Stiles already is, and he knows Stiles likes it when he pushes him. Right now Derek wants to push, and so when Stiles sinks his fingers in deep and begins to slowly thrust them after a longer pause, Derek glances up at him, monitoring his expression, and he knows immediately what Stiles _isn't_ doing. Derek considers the intelligence of it but it isn't a second later that he decides.

He nips suddenly at Stiles' belly, a quick pinch, and Derek covers Stiles' hand with his own, keeping it still and keeping Stiles' fingers buried inside of himself. Derek looks up at him, eyes glinting in the dark.

"You offered to finger yourself for me," he says lowly, "so I could _watch_ you. I'm watching now, Stiles. I want to see it _all_." Derek presses a kiss to the center of his abdomen, almost mocking in its chasteness as Derek moves Stiles' hand back a little to change the angle of his fingers, then presses a little harder.

"Do it right."

* * *

 He's rushing maybe a little but he had used enough lube and Stiles is really freakin' turned on so any burn or ache is manageable. His two fingers plunge inside of him and the whole position is getting a little awkward with having to reach around, but sometimes Stiles likes being in control and putting on a bit of a show for Derek. Not that Stiles can do much showmanship right _now_ with being on his knees, two lubed up fingers in his ass and his dad sleeping down the hall, but it's the principal, obviously.

But leave it to Derek to expect more and notice what Stiles _hadn't_ been doing. The small nip to his stomach has Stiles' eyebrows pinching in - because c'mon, if you're gonna distract him, bite harder - but when Derek's hand stills his own, Stiles' eyes widen as he glances to Derek.

And Derek's fucking words and tone have Stiles' body tensing in anticipation. Stiles doesn't need it spelled out for him. He knows what Derek wants and expects of him, it's just really difficult to stimulate himself that way. Derek? Derek will hold him down and get him to bite on his pillow as he ruthlessly works him up.

This is... More vulnerable. Fuck it. Derek changes the angle of his fingers and Stiles takes a steadying breath in but before he goes for it, he mutters out, "Pervert."

And then his fingers curl and it doesn't take long before Stiles is jolting from the frisson of intense sensation as the pads of his fingers rub inside. This is something he can never get used to. He's tried, but it's too weird, it's too much. Stiles' fingers stop as he stubbornly clenches his jaw and repeats the motion because of course once wouldn't be enough.

His jaw doesn't stay clenched for long as a breathy moan slips out. Immediately Stiles' free hand shoots out to grasp Derek's arm as he rocks back on his fingers. Precome oozes out of his dick, sticking to his belly. Stiles shudders as he thrusts a few times harder to vary the jittery feeling that's darting through him.

The problem with his prostate is, that it gets Stiles making louder but higher pitched sounds. Loud is fine. Of course Stiles would be loud, but he's not exactly sure he likes the keens and sobs that come out of his mouth when his prostate is being played with. Moaning while being fucked within an inch of his life? Yeah, Stiles can handle that. Crying out and twitching and begging for God knows what... It's still newer and odd to him.

"You know... You know I'll get noisy if I keep up with it," he warns.

* * *

 

This is dangerous if they want to remain undetected, but if there's one thing that Derek finds more arousing than almost anything, it's how worked up Stiles gets when his prostate is being stimulated. It had been a shock the first time, followed immediately by Derek shoving his hand over Stiles' mouth to keep him quiet. And when Stiles had come like it hurt him, Derek hadn't been able to resist the urge to fuck him. It's become a thing now.

Sometimes Derek does it just to make Stiles muffle himself into a pillow, and sometimes Derek just stretches him and then lets each thrust of his cock do the work instead. Derek's learned that while the act of fucking Stiles definitely still stimulates him, the force of it and all the other sensations make it more manageable. Fingers are maneuverable and focused, and Derek's oddly sure he could make Stiles cry with it if he really took his time.

But it isn't Derek doing it this time. Derek prompts it. He pushes. He instructs, but it's not _his_ fingers buried in Stiles' heat. Instead it's Stiles, who initially looks a little uncertain (and calls Derek a pervert, which he supposes he is in this case) and then does what he's told. Derek watches, stoking his thumb over Stiles' wrist as if in encouragement, and when Stiles' body suddenly jolts at the sensation, Derek feels a throb of arousal go all the way to his fucking toes. He grits his teeth and watches the corded muscle in Stiles' forearm flex as he curls his fingers again, and by the time Stiles' hand shoots out and grabs Derek's arm, Derek's so hard that it hurts.

The scent of precome on the air floods Derek's senses and it's all he can do to keep watching. Stiles rides his own fingers and Derek can feel his claws threatening to slide free but he keeps them contained, his gaze hot. Derek's _feeling_ hot when he sees the tension ripple through Stiles' muscles, the tension in his arm, the shudder in each breath, the pinch of Stiles' expression when he feels too good. Derek grinds his teeth to keep control, but when Stiles shakily warns him about being loud, Derek doesn't even think.

He takes his hand back, wipes the lube off unceremoniously on Stiles' sheets, and then reaches up, pressing two fingers to Stiles' lips with a deep, rumbling growl.

"Then suck. Or bite. I want to see you, Stiles. I'll listen to make sure you're not _too_ loud, but consider this payback if you have to."

It's not. Stiles just looks _good_ when he's close, be it by Derek's fingers or his own.

* * *

 

Okay. Okay. It's better with Derek watching and bullying him into it. And by better, it's actually worse in ways because Stiles likes pushing himself and wants to be hooking Derek in. Stiles _need_ to do a good job, to pull out all the punches because Derek is a freakin' 12 and Stiles is like a 7 at best... And they haven't even had a 'is this a monogamous thing' talk. There's no guarantee that Derek will stick with him. Stiles isn't even sure 'fuck buddies' is a term that they get to apply to themselves. Stiles thinks of Derek as a friend but what about Derek?

He can't ask now. And Stiles is pretty sure Derek isn't going to let him stop. Derek is kind of a sadist at the best of times. There's ways to combat loudness. They've learned methods. Stiles biting something. Derek's hand covering Stiles' mouth. So Stiles isn't shocked by what Derek proposes. Of course Derek's fingers just had lube on them and Stiles doesn't like the taste of lube but sucking or biting on Derek's fingers seems stupidly erotic right now so Stiles is going to give it a try.

His lips part and two fingers slide into his mouth and against his tongue. There's a parallel here. Stiles has two of his fingers inside his ass and now two of Derek's fingers are in his mouth. Fuck. He's so hard right now and it's just fingers in his mouth, but it's the idea that he's so _full_ right now and it's Derek... Yeah, he likes it and this way he can put on a bit of a show.

Stiles sucks on Derek's fingers, the trace of chemical lube be damned. He rubs his tongue against them while his own fingers twist and have Stiles giving a muffled moan. It's a little awkward to breathe, his eyes are watering and he feels the beginnings of spit trail from the corner of his mouth but Stiles doesn't relent. He bobs his head and sucks along the length of Derek's fingers as if they were Derek's cock and the distraction helps him tease his prostate.

Stiles is shuddering and and squirming as antsy pleasure streaks through him with each curl of his fingers. He doesn't bother asking for permission as he pushes a third finger in and hisses around Derek's fingers. Stiles' cock has been steadily drooling against his belly and he feels like it would take less than a dozen strokes to get him off but he doesn't want to get off until Derek is inside of him so Stiles tries his best to focus on stretching himself open, driving himself crazy with the occasional touch to his prostate and sucking on Derek's fingers as if he was giving a free BJ class.

* * *

There's hunger in Derek's eyes as he watches Stiles make his choice. Stiles doesn't comment, doesn't call him a sadist or a pervert because now he's too turned on to care, just like Derek had wanted. The thing is... Derek's fine for a quick fuck in an alley somewhere, or taking someone to a hotel. He'd done it when he'd been in New York and he'd been looking to blow off some steam. But outside a little bondage (always on the other person, never on himself) he hadn't _been_ a 'pervert', as Stiles says. He'd liked to fuck rough, to lose himself in it, to make his partner get off as many times as he could, but up until Stiles, he hadn't been so intent on pushing and demanding. There's just something about _Stiles_ that draws it out of him, and Derek's never seen fit to correct the accusations.

Stiles' mouth is wet and warm when he sucks Derek's fingers into it and the sensation makes Derek bite on his own tongue to hold himself in check. Stiles may be annoying, and he might be loud, but one thing he's _not_ is unskilled with his mouth. He's enthusiastic and unrepentant.

Derek watches Stiles moan, _feels_ the vibrations through his fingers, and Derek watches hungrily as saliva eventually spills out. It's one of the best things about Stiles using his mouth; he's unapologetic about it. Strange how the thing that brings Derek the most irritation in the day brings him arguably the most pleasure in the stolen nights.

Derek's breathing harder now, and he swears he can feel the clench around his own fingers when Stiles presses in with a third. Derek hears it, smells the spark of arousal, and he _aches_ as he lets Stiles go to town on his fingers. Derek curls them, pressing down against his tongue, and when Stiles' cheeks hollow, Derek presses them in deeper, muscles twitching with the desire to keep controlled.

He wants to fuck Stiles badly, has for some time, but the scent of his precome has Derek almost dizzy with the desire to lap it up. He doesn't, _can't_ , because he's too transfixed by the sight of Stiles practically blowing his fingers while fingering himself.

His control is solid. Derek knows it is. _He's_ used to breaking Stiles down into begging, so it surprises him when he feels himself beginning to reach the point of desperation. Derek almost forgets to listen for the sheriff. Almost. He's still asleep thankfully, which is a good thing, because Derek's not entirely sure he would have left had the sheriff walked in at this point. Stiles is awful for his control.

"Do you want to come like this, or do you want me to fuck you?" Derek asks, and he's a little irritated that despite the control in his voice, it also sounds breathless. He presses his fingers in deeper, stroking Stiles' tongue with his fingertips. "Because I'm tempted to fuck you either way, and soon."

* * *

 

By now, it's well known that Stiles possesses a bit of an oral fixation (that may be an understatement). Straws, gum, popsicles, slurpy food, Derek's dick and now fingers apparently. It's not something Stiles would have thought he'd enjoy - they're just fingers - nice fingers, yeah. Fingers that grow claws and can slice throats, but fingers that have also been inside of him and made him whine and beg...

He feels Derek's fingers move in his mouth, against his tongue, and it's sexy. It's sexy and Stiles has the weird urge to have Derek's fingers deeper down his throat, to maybe gag on them even - and _whoa_ , that's a thought to leave for later. Even though it's a wet messy affair, Stiles can tell that Derek is getting into this - that he _is_ into this. Derek doesn't look away. Derek is breathing harder even though Stiles is only sucking on his fingers. Stiles likes it a lot. It makes the struggling worth it.

And when Derek speaks, he sounds breathless and _affected_ and Stiles feels victorious. Stiles' fingers stop pushing in. His arm feels a little sore from the angle and tensing, his wrist is crooked in a weird way, but he's still got a rock hard boner and he still wants to get fucked so that's going to happen. Stiles pulls away from Derek's fingers with a _pop_ and swallows the excess saliva in his mouth before he clears his throat and tries to speak.

His own voice is rough. "Want you to fuck me, Derek," Stiles murmurs. "Please."

And normally Stiles doesn't say please because manners with sex just seems kinda strange with Derek, but the word comes out anyway. Stiles flinches when he removes his own fingers, an emptiness left in its wake. Stiles wastes no time in wiping his hand off on the corner of the bed sheet before scrambling to lie on his back and spread his legs invitingly for Derek.

"Let's go," he then whines.

On his back with his legs spread waiting to get filled with Derek's cock is sort of terrifying. Sometimes Stiles thinks Derek isn't going to go through with it. That he's going take one look at him and laugh and get dressed and leave...

* * *

 

God, the sight of Stiles pulling off of Derek's fingers is hot. Derek feels the snarl building inside of him but doesn't let it out, too transfixed with the sight of Stiles swallowing, his lips redder, Derek's fingers wet with his saliva. There's a moment where Derek isn't sure what Stiles is going to answer with, and then he _asks_ to be fucked, and Derek grimaces as his cock aches, precome drooling down onto Stiles' sheets in a way that mean they're going to have to be washed soon. Scott has an annoying habit of coming over sometimes and Derek doesn't want Scott picking up his scent. This is still a secret, much as Derek hates it, but he won't let himself be distracted. Not when Stiles is _begging_.

Derek sits up. He gives Stiles the bed, idly listening for the sheriff, but the sound of snoring is still clear in the air, and Derek doesn't care. He watches intently as Stiles removes his fingers (and Derek has the uncomfortable urge to grab Stiles' hand and suck on them) and then settles himself back on the bed. Derek stares as Stiles spreads his legs, and all he needs to see is the shine of the lube between Stiles' legs for Derek to surge into action. A low growl escapes him and Derek turns, bracing one foot on the bed as he leans over and reluctantly grabs a condom from the pocket of his jeans.

He doesn't _like_ wearing a condom, but it's practical. He can't get Stiles pregnant, he can't pass on any illnesses, but he _can_ leave his scent behind. This is safer for their secret. So though Derek doesn't want to, he wastes no time in sliding the condom onto his aching dick and then he reaches over to grab the lube. Derek doesn't take his eyes off of Stiles as he lubes himself up, and he almost tosses the bottle back onto the floor when he throws it aside. It lands on the edge of the bed, thankfully, but Derek doesn't care. He crawls over to Stiles, bracing his hands on either side of Stiles' head, and then bends down.

Derek kisses him dirty. It's open-mouthed and hot, biting as hard as he dares at Stiles' lip, fucking his mouth with his tongue as he reaches down and hikes Stiles' hips up so the guy can wrap his legs around Derek's waist. Despite the urgency, despite the damn _need_ , though, Derek doesn't drive himself into Stiles' ass immediately. Instead he reaches down, bracing his cock with one hand as he presses the blunt head to Stiles' hole. Derek rubs it slowly, aching at the heat, and then he pulls back a little from the kiss.

"Deep breath," he warns, and then begins to push, and it's fucking _bliss_. Stiles' ass is tight and gripping and hot and Derek's next breath is nothing but a hiss as he sinks into Stiles' body, his cock throbbing.

* * *

 

Stiles will never get over the sight of Derek naked and desiring him - _him_ \- of all people. Stiles doesn't think he's bad looking by any means. He's got a _great personality_ to make up for anything he's lacking (if he does say so himself). But Derek's dick is hard and it gets Stiles' heart beating quicker at the sight and knowledge that it's going to go _inside_ him - that they're going to fuck - and yeah, it doesn't hurt that Derek has a beautiful piece of meat there. All of Derek is beautiful. One day Stiles wants to tell him that.

But not tonight.

Stiles is waiting and blatantly watching as Derek reaches for his jeans and the condoms. Werewolves can't have or get STI's but apparently sex and jizz have smells so Derek doesn't want to have to worry about that. And Derek is just so damn practiced and quick with rolling on a condom that it has Stiles impressed and nervous because, _just how many partners has Derek had?_ Where does Stiles rank? Maybe Derek likes chicks more because they don't need so much prep? Maybe Derek is sleeping with other people?

Too many questions.

Derek squeezes more lube out and slicks his dick up and once the bottle is tossed away, Derek is back on the bed and over him and they're kissing. Derek kisses Stiles' concerns and anxieties away, it's searing and the kind of kiss that gets him breathless, that makes his lips tingly and flushed. His hips are pulled up and urgency and excitement skyrocket through Stiles as Derek takes his cock and just rubs the tip of it against his hole, a tease of a hello. _Fuckfuckfuck they're really going to do this again._

Stiles listens. He takes a deep breath that then gets pushed out of him as Derek works his way inside. He shuts his eyes and his arms loop around Derek's neck. And there's still a burn of a stretch as his body acclimates to Derek's cock pushing inside. Like this, helpless and all but clinging, Stiles feels inexplicably _young_. Other positions - him on his knees and facing away, for example - they're more sexy. There's some distance.

But like this, Derek hovering over him and Stiles wrapping his legs around him... It's intimate. In this position, Derek can't change his mind and leave - at least not as easy. Stiles likes this position - boring ole missionary - because Derek can't forget who he is. They have to look at each other. They kiss. Stiles can cling onto him. It's good.

But it's still Stiles and he's gotta natter because his thoughts are frankly scaring him. "You probably take - take those pills that make your dick big," Stiles wheezes out. "Or, or the lotion. Feels like giant pole up my ass, man."

* * *

 

 _Fuck_ Stiles is tight. It always shocks Derek to realize, because there's no reason for Stiles' body to heal the way Derek's does. It takes him time to recover, which is why Derek isn't over every damn night, but Derek's still shocked that even after a few months of this, Stiles still feels _this_ good. Derek's shoulders and biceps flex as he slowly sinks into Stiles' body, feeling each gripping inch like heat and pressure. He'd love nothing more than to forgo the condom, but Derek's not that reckless despite how badly he wants to be. He doesn't want the questions; neither of them do. They can't risk it despite how badly Derek wants to.

But it doesn't matter for now, because Stiles' arms come up to loop around Derek's neck and Derek feels his legs follow suit until Stiles is practically clinging to him. Derek moves one hand, pressing it behind Stiles' head to help support it as he breathes out sharply between his teeth, pressing into Stiles' body with an aching slowness that Derek would forgo if he could. He doesn't want to hurt Stiles, though, and like this all his senses are so alive that it'd be impossible to miss the scent of undue pain on the air.

Derek's breathing is ragged as Stiles clings to him, as he slowly pushes in, and it would be a perfect moment he could have lost himself in... had Stiles not started to talk.

It's an interesting sensation immediately, because Derek's expression pinches a little at the same time that something stupidly prideful slides through him. He draws back just enough to look down at Stiles, Derek's lips parted on each breath, but he can't help the flat look he sends Stiles.

"That is both flattering and the least-sexy thing you could have said," he informs him, but thankfully it isn't _actually_ a turn off, which it should be.

Still, Derek hasn't met a man alive who doesn't like to hear he's got a big dick; he can forgive Stiles that pretty easily, and he does. Instead, bracing himself properly, Derek grinds his teeth as he presses in so slowly he's pretty sure he's going to lose control while attempting it. He doesn't, though it's a near thing, and he can't bite back the low groan and curse that escapes him when he finally - _finally_ \- bottoms out, his hips pressed to Stiles' ass, his muscles trembling at the pleasure of it.

* * *

 

Oh, Stiles knows that his talking isn't exactly welcome during intimate moments such as these. At least, not _this_ kind of talking, not the chatter and less-than-sexy thoughts he'd be blurting out if he didn't have to watch his loudness. But it's too late now. He's said it and at least it's distracted himself, shattered unwelcome thoughts from staying formed.

It's true, too. Derek has a big dick. Like, it's probably all proportionate to his big sexy body, too but Stiles isn't a pro at genitalia ratios or anything. He's not studied such matters. He could look into it, but somehow he thinks it wouldn't exactly impress Derek.

Like now, Derek pulls his head away to look down at him and it's not the _worst_ expression he's seen on Derek or directed at himself. Stiles would give a shrug at Derek's remark (which is true) but he's currently being slowly stuffed with cock and that's much more important. Sometimes it still impresses Stiles that Derek can be so slow and careful in this - at least at the start. It never stays slow and careful.

Stiles holds still and tries to relax his body as much as possible with Derek edging his way inside and making Stiles feel impossibly full and like every nerve is firing. When Derek's cock can go no deeper, Stiles hears the groan that Derek gives and it pleases him. His hands flatten out and he digs his nails into Derek's shoulders, enjoying the flex of muscles.

"Fuck yeah," Stiles grits out, breathing deeply and letting his eyes close. He's basking in the singular intense feeling of Derek being all the way inside of him. His body feels pushed and alive and Stiles purposefully wiggles to feel Derek's cock more. He then clenches around it and looks up.

"Gonna fuck me already?" Stiles asks, egging Derek on. "Want you to fuck me, Derek. Fuck me nice and hard and make me feel it."

* * *

 

It's not the worst thing that Stiles has said during sex. Stiles' mouth tends to run away with him while he's overwhelmed by sensation, Derek's realized. He normally doesn't mind, but every now and then the words are just so ridiculous that he has to stop and send Stiles an unimpressed look. That's the case now, though to his credit he doesn't stop until he's buried deep in Stiles' body, feeling the quiver of muscles, the bite of nails. Derek wants those nails to grip harder, to claw at him, but he doesn't say so, just like he doesn't say that there's a part of him that wants to just bask in sensation. To enjoy it _before_ Stiles inevitably eggs him on. Derek _like_ s fucking rough. He likes the feeling. But he also likes taking his time _before_ rushing into it.

But Stiles is only so patient. Derek doesn't mind. _Fuck_ , the feeling of Stiles squirming under him, the pressure against his dick, is maddening. But when Stiles up and clenches around him, Derek's lips part on a soundless, sharp gasp and he goes rigid, fighting to stay controlled even if he currently doesn't want to. All it takes is Stiles telling him what he wants for Derek's control to break in half. The words go right to his cock and Derek's growl is louder now, rumbling, almost feral. He hisses something that sounds like _I will_ , but doesn't have the sharpness to discern the words from growls, and then Derek leans down, bending over Stiles' body to press him down into the mattress. Derek _also_ suspects that Stiles likes being covered like this. Derek isn't about to judge. He gets off on how tightly Stiles clings to him.

Derek's still gentle as he pulls his hips back a little, but he's not quite as gentle when he thrusts back in. Stiles is still tight, still a little tense, and Derek knows he can't just rush in, so he doesn't. Instead he curls his fingers in Stiles' hair and leans down, mouthing at his throat. Stiles' scent is sharper here, and even if Derek can't bite and leave marks, he can still mouth, can still threaten it. Derek rolls his hips, grinding in deep, and there's a growl in his voice when he lightly drags his teeth over Stiles' throat.

"If you want it, you need to relax. I can't fuck you when you're tense; I'm not going to hurt you." Derek licks at Stiles' throat, then leans up, nipping at his earlobe. He breathes harder, aware that Stiles probably likes the sound.

"Cling harder. I know you want to."

* * *

 

If they're not actively fucking and grabbing and groaning, there's a chance that Stiles might say or do something that's not on the OK list. This made-up OK list hasn't been spelled out, it hasn't been negotiated, but Stiles has observed and learned. Derek doesn't want anyone else to know so that means condoms and changing clothes and spraying himself with cologne at times. It means sneaking around and never being able to really let go because they're always worried about being too loud and being discovered.

There's usually little to no cuddling after sex unless one or both of them are particularly exhausted. Stolen kissing and grinding is more of a sign of showing interest for something to happen _later_. Does Stiles like all these rules? No, not really, but Stiles doesn't want to rock the boat. He's pretty sure this is just a sex thing for Derek anyway. So yeah, Stiles eggs Derek on and squirms and clenches in a way that will get Derek gasping and more inclined to move. The answering growl? Fucking hot and it has Stiles shuddering and antsy.

When Derek drapes over him, relief rushes through Stiles. He imagines it's not that sexy for him to cling to Derek like this, but Derek has allowed it since their first time and now it's a _thing_. They don't always do it like this, but Stiles still really gets off on it. He feels Derek withdraw, his cock carefully sliding out before a harder thrust is given and a Stiles' mouth falls open in a silent gasp. Sometimes it feels like a Derek could break him like this, but it's never happened. The fingers in his hair, the mouth and stubble dragging along his throat, it drives Stiles crazy. And then Derek's hips grind in, Derek's cock is nice and deep and Stiles is giving a closed-mouth groan as Derek coaches him to relax. Now, Stiles knows this already, but doing it is still difficult. Almost counterintuitive.

But then Derek's other instruction comes - to cling harder - and the fact that Derek _knows_ he wants to? Stiles gives a half-sob and does just that. His legs squeeze harder and his nails dig in deeper and Stiles breathes in deep, inhaling Derek and letting it fill his lungs.

"You... You could never hurt me," Stiles mumbles out. Close to Derek, grasping onto him, Stiles' body does gradually relax around the stretch. Stiles sighs and kisses whatever skin is in reach - up Derek's jaw, his cheek.

"Please, please," Stiles begs. His cock is hard and tapped between them but he can't get off until Derek actually starts fucking him.

* * *

 

Derek just wants to bite. He wants to leave marks, to fuck Stiles so hard that he's left limping for a few days in ways a werewolf never can. He wants to flip them over and have Stiles ride him, wants to hold his hips and grind Stiles down against him. He wants to see the slightly slack-jawed look that Stiles gets when he's close, wants to fuck into him until he can't help those high-pitched whimpers of pleasure that go right to Derek's dick when Stiles' prostate is being hit right. But most of all, Derek wishes he could just hear him, could let this be more than it is. But it isn't, and he can't. So instead Derek growls. He threatens a scrape of teeth. He grinds in deep and delights in the sounds that Stiles makes.

And when Derek tells him to cling, his eyes almost glint in the dark as Stiles does just that. The sob Stiles lets out shoots through Derek's chest and forces another growl from his throat, but there is nothing hotter than the way Stiles just suddenly clings to him. Derek feels the bite of nails. He rolls his shoulders into it, hissing, groaning appreciatively.

But feeling Stiles' legs grip around his hips, feeling the pressure, the proof that Stiles _wants_ this? That's the best. That one has Derek biting back a snarl, has him shuddering with the effort to stay still until Stiles relaxes enough for Derek to move.

"Perfect," Derek grits out.

He grinds in deep, feeling the perfect clench around his cock, and then he draws back for a slow thrust to test Stiles' response. There's no immediate gripping clench that tells Derek he'll wind up hurting Stiles, and that's enough for him. Yes, he'd never hurt Stiles _intentionally,_ but that doesn't mean that it's easy. Derek hasn't told him how difficult it is to keep control, to monitor the force of his thrusts, to keep Stiles from getting hurt. Because Derek _could_ hurt him. He won't. But he could.

But he doesn't feel the too-tight clench. He doesn't feel the danger. Instead Derek finally feels that Stiles is ready and the groan he lets out is low and almost subvocal. He nips and sucks softly at Stiles' throat, nuzzling in, scraping his stubble against sensitive skin, and he finally thrusts in the way they both want. The first one is always the most intense but it also sets the precedence. Derek grinds his teeth as he thrusts, finally fucking into Stiles the way he wants to, quicker and a little harder.

But despite how wonderful it feels, Derek's distracted by the press of Stiles' lips to his skin. Stiles doesn't do it all the time, only when he's worked up. Derek clutches him closer and presses Stiles to the bed (already pulled away from the wall so as not to slam the headboard into it) and he snaps his hips, shuddering at the feeling.

"I know. I know. I'll make it good."

* * *

 

Stiles has no clue how it would be with someone else because he hasn't been with anyone else - at least not for full-on sex. He's had hot 'n heavy makeout sessions. He's done a few things. But he can imagine. He can imagine how _him_ fucking a girl or guy would be completely different than how Derek fucks him. Until Derek, Stiles hadn't exactly been overly keen on guys anyway. He wasn't against them, he just hadn't seriously considered his own gender (which, to be honest, he should have to increase his chances). Anyway, Stiles thinks he'd be more sweet and possibly veering into silly at times. Or at least lighthearted. There's nothing exactly lighthearted about fucking with Derek.

Derek's mouth skims across his neck and god, Stiles wants him to bite and suck there too. It's probably because he can't have it that Stiles wants it so much, but whatever. His neck has always been rather sensitive and he'd like to see marks that couldn't be hidden...

When Derek comments that it's _perfect_ , Stiles totally agrees - at least on the surface. It feels fucking amazing. Derek Hale is dominating everything right now. Derek _has_ him. Pinned to the bed. Derek is leaning over him, filling him, letting Stiles cling and then thrusting slowly and the drag of his cock is delicious. (But perfect? Perfect would be not having to worry about waking his dad up or having to ensure that Derek only bites him at approved spots.)

It's obvious when Derek deems him ready. Stiles can practically taste the relief and anticipation as Derek nuzzles against his neck that's surely at least pink from attention now.

And then the harder thrusts come and Stiles feels his entire body shake with the force. In this position, Derek can only go for momentum versus pulling all the way out and then snapping back in.

"It's... Already good, asshole," Stiles tries to tease, but his voice is tight and breathless. He nips at Derek's throat because it's there and reachable and any marks Stiles leaves will heal.

"Want to fuck in your car,” Stiles then says. "Could drive out of town and-and not need to worry about being q-quiet."

His last word hitches as Derek alters the angle and his cock brushes inside just right.

* * *

 

Derek takes great care to keep himself controlled, to not grip with all his strength, to not snap his hips as hard as he could, because he genuinely does not want to hurt Stiles. He might be annoying sometimes, might run his mouth at meetings and training sessions, and Derek has absolutely made mistakes while riled up around the pack before. He's not a _good_ person by any means, but he tries, and isn't that worth anything?

Derek doesn't want to hurt Stiles, but he does want more. He wants to be able to make snide comments at Stiles during meetings and have it be known that he's only teasing. He wants to shove Stiles into the kitchen during their downtime, when the pack insists on doing normal things like watching a movie, and he wants to kiss him breathless before going back to the others.

But this is what he has, and it's _good._ Derek can feel pleasure singing through him as Stiles clutches at him. He can't get much momentum in his thrusts like this, but he doesn't need it. He knows what Stiles likes by now, and all it takes is some careful angling to find the position that makes Stiles' voice hitch. And _fuck_ if what he says isn't enticing.

Derek's teeth grind harder and there's a sound that wants to escape him when Stiles nips at his throat. Derek hasn't ever told him how big a deal that is, for an _Alpha_ to let _anyone_ at their throat. Bared throats are a sign of submission or trust, and each time Stiles does it to him, Derek's instincts go haywire. It makes him grip slightly harder, makes him thrust with rolling grinds of his hips to _really_ let Stiles feel it, and Derek's eyes always, _always_ go red.

Then Stiles mentions fucking in Derek's car, and he can't hold back the snarl that comes out. It's not loud, not damning, but it's visceral. The mental image alone... Derek nods jerkily and buries his face in against Stiles' neck, greedily breathing in his scent as his hips snap forward. Had he not dragged the bed away from the wall a few weeks into this new... thing they have going on, Derek's pretty damn sure there would have been a hole in the wall by now. As it is, there had been a dent there before he'd thought better of it.

Now Derek fucks as hard as he dares, and as Stiles grabs at him, Derek rakes his fingers through his hair. He turns his head, breathing rough, and his teeth find Stiles' shoulder, biting down where he knows he can. Derek's free hand goes down to Stiles' ass, lifting his hips up off the bed effortlessly as he fucks into him, feeling each blissful second of tightness and heat, scenting the precome practically dripping from Stiles' cock, trapped between them.

"Next time," Derek says, and his voice is practically feral with how low it is. "You'll ride me. You can scream as much as you're dying to now."

* * *

 

Even though Stiles knows sex with someone else would be different - possibly different in good ways too - he's practically addicted to Derek. There's hormones and chemicals released during arousal and orgasm, yeah, but there's just something important in how Derek lets him touch and bite _now_. Stiles still remembers the first time he'd gripped Derek's shoulder in his Jeep and the werewolf had been thoroughly incredulous why _Stiles_ would deign to ever touch him. Even when Derek had initiated their new physical relationship, Stiles had been wary to reach back and touch.

And now he's fucking clinging to Derek, digging his nails into skin that won't keep any of his marks, legs wrapped around Derek's and biting at Derek's neck. Oh, and suggesting they fuck in Derek's overpriced sports car.

His suggestion is met with a snarl and Stiles knows that it's the good kind. The _really good_ kind, too. Stiles sluggishly tilts his head to the side to feel the slight pull of his hair in Derek's fingers. When the bite comes to his shoulder, he cries out and tenses before he curls his toes and bites his lip to keep quiet. Stiles is breathing harshly through his nostrils when Derek replies, his voice so low with promise and desire that it has Stiles' shivering.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles grits out, nails scraping down Derek's shoulder blades. "You think I wanna scream? You think I'm _going to_ scream from your big dick fucking me?" It's difficult to sound composed and speak while getting banged but Stiles always manages. "Why don't you - uh - make me, Derek. _Make me._ "

(And he's uttered a similar threat before…)

* * *

 Stiles' cry is loud in the room compared to how loud they've been, but Derek doesn't hear more than a slight shuffle from down the hall, not that he's fully paying attention. His attention has narrowed in on Stiles, on the bitten-off sounds he's making, on the roar of his pulse as Derek fucks him, on the bite of his nails and the overwhelming sensation of Stiles' body pressed all along his front. Derek wants to pin him and fuck him into the mattress as badly as he wants to roll over and snap his hips up as Stiles rides him. The images are super-imposed on his mind, mixing together, making him ache, making his cock drool in the confines of the condom, which just increases the slickness, the need.

He distantly feels Stiles pulling against his hair and Derek feels almost drunk on this. But it's when Stiles' nails drag down his back that he begins to lose it a little. His back arches and he hisses, moving into the touch like a cat looking for further attention, instead of a man getting clawed. The welts will heal almost immediately and Derek wants them placed again and again, wants the burn and the sting, and he has to mind his grip on Stiles so as not to hurt him as the roar in his mind builds. _Control_. Always control.

But even Derek knows that Stiles' suggestion is an awful idea. Stiles screaming would wake his father, and Derek wants to come. He _wants_ to mark up this smarmy fuck, wants to paint his skin with his come, to rub it in to make sure everyone knows who Stiles had chosen to take to his bed. But he doesn't. It doesn't stop the flare of desire, though, doesn't stop the ache of arousal as Derek's body practically twitches with the desire to bite and fuck and make Stiles spasm under him. His eyes are red when he draws back to look down at him, his lips pulled back in a only-just-human snarl.

 _Make me_ , Stiles had said. Derek moves the hand around Stiles' hip to hook under one of his thighs, keeping his leg up around Derek's hips. He removes his other hand from Stiles' hair and - making eye contact - Derek firmly clasps his hand over Stiles' mouth with a low growl.

"Fine," Derek says, and there's novels of promise in that one word.

He _snaps_ his hips against Stiles' ass, hard enough that he knows Stiles' skin will likely be bruised tomorrow, but not hard enough to actually hurt him. Derek fucks him like that, the pace almost punishing, and his eyes burn as he watches Stiles. But then, when pleasure begins to curl around him, Derek grinds his teeth and changes the angle of his hips, fucking _up_ into that tight, gripping hole. He knows the angle. He knows how to _make_ Stiles scream, even if he's never risked it like this before.

* * *

 

Is this a smart idea? No. Not really. Is it a good idea? Stiles' dick happens to thinks so. Damn little useless head. It's just that challenging Derek is like second nature. They don't always clash, but Stiles, being vocal, and Derek being way too stubborn, clashes were bound to happen. And then ever since the boinking stuff happened, it seemed imperative to not be seen as what, anything more? Stiles doesn't really know or get it, but apparently pack dynamics are important and Derek doesn't want to be seen as showing any favoritism or weakness or _blah blah blah Alpha shit._

But it's too late. Stiles has said it and this isn't something he can just take back either (why would he?). Derek had been insinuating that he would scream - that he _wants_ to - and maybe Stiles is a little curious too. When Derek pulls back, red eyes meet his own and Stiles feels a pang of arousal at seeing Derek like this, at seeing Derek letting go or being forced to let go. It's sexy. So so so sexy. Maybe Stiles has some werewolf kink?

The hand leaves his waist to come under a thigh and makes sure it stays wrapped around. And then a hand comes to clamp over his mouth. At first Stiles is all _no way_ about it because he hasn't even made a loud enough sound to warrant being shut up yet. Stiles struggles for a few seconds but it's futile and then Derek gets down to business.

And business is good. Derek's hips snap hard and Stiles is wincing and closing his eyes at the force of the thrusts. They're fast and brutal and Stiles would feel a bit like a rag doll if he wasn't squirming in pleasure. Stiles' moaning is muffled by Derek's hand and he doesn't even bother to try and stifle it. He knows he's going to be sore in the morning, bruised too, but the thought is enticing. Stiles' own hands side down to Derek's arms and grip as he takes it. It's only when Derek changes the angle that Stiles legitimately twitches and his eyes snap open.

Derek is hammering into him, hitting his prostate and Stiles thinks his brain might be broken. His back curves off the bed, he doesn't know if he wants more or less but his vocalizations begin to get louder. Stiles feels sensitive and antsy with pleasure but Derek doesn't let him squirm away nor does he relent. Stiles is blinking rapidly as his hands curl around Derek's arms. He tries to whine, to give some thoughtless comment, but he's unable to do so. Stiles' cock aches and he thinks if he can just reach down and stroke it would take like three maximum.

* * *

 

Stiles will be sore tomorrow. He'll likely find it difficult to sit down, to walk, and Derek _revels_ in the knowledge. Arousal prickles like fire over his skin as he gives himself over to this feral side of himself. As much as he wants to draw this out, to keep Stiles on edge, to be forced to cover his mouth because Stiles can't stay properly quiet, doing it preemptively is _hot_ and it has Derek's chest heaving with breaths of mostly-silent exertion as he rises to the challenge, literally. His eyes burn red and Derek feels the prick of his fangs against his lower lip and this time he doesn't fight it back. His control shifts to making sure he doesn't _hurt_ Stiles, and Derek grits his teeth until he tastes blood from small cuts on his lips. He doesn't care.

There's nothing like making Stiles' back arch like a drawn bow. Derek fucks him with punishing, quick thrusts, but while he'll be sore in the morning, Derek intends to make this memorable. He intends to follow through, and he does. Because while Stiles takes it at first, when Derek's angle changes, the sensation of Stiles' entire body twitching around him draws a growl from Derek's throat.

He drinks in the wide-eyed shock and he _feels_ the bliss coursing through Stiles. He can sense it, can smell it, see it, hear it, _feel_ it around his dick. Stiles' muscles twitch with sensitivity and it feels really damn good, but Derek's on a mission now. He'll come when he lets himself, when he can't take the sensitivity anymore. But Stiles... feeling him struggle to writhe, feeling his desperation brings Derek closer than anything.

Derek breathes in sharply and he can smell how close Stiles is all of a sudden. His cock is trapped between them, being given some pressure but very little stimulation, and Derek wonders suddenly, blindly, if Stiles is sensitive enough to come without being stroked. The thought makes Derek press Stiles harder to the mattress, turns his relentless fucking into something closer to rutting, animalistic and fevered, and Derek presses his hand harder over Stiles' mouth to block out the sounds that clearly want to build.

"I'm not going to touch you," Derek growls breathlessly into Stiles' ear, and there's a slight hiss to his voice that indicates the presence of his fangs. He doesn't dare bite Stiles now. "You're going to come like this. I'm going to _make you_. I know you like that," Derek adds in a hiss, shuddering above Stiles and cursing roughly under his breath.

"C'mon, Stiles... I've got you."

* * *

 

Scratch that. It would take like two quick strokes, maybe even just one. Stiles' body is buzzing with pleasure, with the sensation of _too much_ and _just enough_ but he swears it's probably tipping onto the _too much_ side of things. Stiles is breathing harshly, exhaling on the back of Derek's hand and struggling to get enough air in. Compared to Derek, he's not doing much physically. Stiles is just taking it, laying here and writhing, gripping and clenching, but it feels like his body is being put through the ringer. It's like a lacrosse practice with extra drills just because Coach is feeling sadistic towards Greenberg.

He feels a little dizzy with the ferocity Derek is demonstrating here. Stiles wants to ask (or beg) Derek to touch him, but hey, hand over his mouth and his own head isn't really working all that well to figure out how to indicate what he wants. For whatever reason, maybe Derek can tell he's close, but Derek pushes him down harder, humping into him roughly, the sound of skin slapping skin increasing and Stiles _should_ be concerned but he can't devote any of his brain power into that.

The hand over his mouth tightens and Stiles is beginning to feel overwhelmed with sensation. Then Derek's mouth is close to his ear and Derek's growling a threat, but Stiles has just enough sense about him (or a werewolf kink) to notice that Derek's fangs are likely out and _fuck_ , if that isn't super hot (and risky). It's only after Derek curses that Stiles clues in to what Derek had actually said - what it actually _means_.

Derek _isn't_ going to touch him, _isn't_ going to stroke him off. Stiles gives an indignant growl of his own and then Derek speaks again and it's the assurance, the simple ' _I've got you_ ' that reins Stiles back in, that focuses him. Now that he doesn't need to worry about his dick being touched, Stiles technically has less to worry about. He gives a nod and lets himself fall into this moment completely - lets himself fall into Derek.

He closes his eyes and moans, clinging to Derek as Derek almost viciously pounds into him. Stiles only has to adjust slightly from his squirming to have his prostate begin to be nailed again. And then Stiles is getting louder, or would be if Derek's hand wasn't over his mouth. It is too much. The roughness, the speed. Derek over him and taking him and _making_ him. Stiles' body tenses and when his orgasm crashes over him, his eyes are wet from the intensity. Stiles' cock spurts thick ropes of come that lands on both of them as he shakes underneath Derek.

* * *

 

Derek's pushing too hard. He's asking too much. He _knows_ he is, but in that moment he just doesn't care. Instinct is violent within him and it's only through a small margin that he remembers that Stiles is human and that he could actually hurt him if he doesn't watch himself. So he does, though the snap of his hips is still hard, and he still pushes, still demands. Derek can feel his muscles burning, and he knows the sound of skin slapping on skin is loud, but the sheriff is only stirring from it slightly. He doesn't care otherwise, and so Derek just goes for it.

He feels Stiles' soft growl under his hand, feels the hot breath quick over the back of it, and Derek's more than a little intrigued by the feeling. But when he continues, when he tells Stiles that he's got him (and not even Derek wants to look at where that had come from) he notices the way that Stiles' muscles begin to relax. As much as they can, anyway. Derek's breath comes in soft-but-ragged pants and he arches over Stiles as pleasure aches through him.

He's so tight, so hot, so _responsive_ , and Derek knows his control can only go so far. So he holds Stiles, he guides him, and when Stiles' moans increase, when desperation clearly washes over him as well, Derek growls and lets him have more.

When Stiles comes, it takes Derek by surprise. It's a sudden force, one he hadn't been expecting, and his hips stutter sharply as Stiles tenses and jerks, his hole clenching and twitching so damn perfectly that it tears Derek's breath away. But more than that is the scent, the musky smell of his come mixed with the slightly-salty scent of his tears. Derek draws back to take one look, just one, seeing Stiles' expression lax in pleasure, his eyes damp, his body twitching and gripping Derek's cock, and the sight makes Derek want to howl.

He doesn't.

Instead he curses breathlessly and bites his lower lip to keep from biting Stiles. His thrusts turn shallow, more of a grind up against Stiles' prostate just to feel the clenching, the knowledge that he'd given him pleasure, and it's not a half dozen more thrusts before Derek's body seizes in pleasure. He's silent but for a choked moan as he buries himself in Stiles' body, hips flush to his ass, and Derek holds him close as he comes, pleasure pulsing through him as he fills the condom and stays buried deeply in Stiles' body.

Derek's hand eventually slides away from Stiles' mouth, and the sound of their heartbeats and breathing is almost deafening. His muscles tremble with the effort, with the satisfaction and pleasure, and the desire to lay atop Stiles and bury him in his scent is next to overwhelming. He doesn't. Instead Derek struggles to get himself back under control and mouths at Stiles' throat, injecting each kiss with the praise he can't voice out loud.

* * *

 

No, Stiles isn't crying. His eyes are just watering. But it hardly matters, Stiles is only distantly aware of the moisture as his orgasm rips through him. It's good. It's _really_ fucking good. The kind that leaves you winded and dazed and totally sated. Probably the best he's had and Stiles is not sure he wants to unpack that yet, so that's for later.

For now, he's at Derek's mercy. The pleasure soon turns into oversensitivity as Derek doesn't stop. Why would he? Derek needs to come too. Stiles gets it, it's just that his body feels wracked with sensation as Derek's pace changes, grinding in deep and causing frissons of edged pleasure to jolt through him. Stiles doesn't attempt to fight. He's near boneless in his bliss and thankfully it doesn't take Derek too much longer to finish.

Derek is buried deep as he comes. Stiles can't feel it or smell it, but he's felt Derek's body orgasm before. He knows how Derek reacts, how he wants to be loud - his mouth is open - but the sound is always bitten off. It's still really hot. And when the hand is removed from his mouth, Stiles feels viscerally shaken as he feels a tear run down the side of his face.

They're a mess of sweat and jizz but right now, as they both come down, Stiles has nothing to say. His muscles ache from the clenching and jolting but as Derek kisses at his throat, Stiles gingerly unwraps his legs. His hands move to Derek's hair and Stiles scratches lightly at his scalp, almost soothing.

"Surprised..." Stiles begins, his voice soft and raw. He then shakes his head. "Well, I'd say you rock, but I don't want your ego to get any bigger." Stiles sighs, a lazy, pleased smile on his face. "You're getting heavy."

He then pulls at Derek's hair to urge him to move. He's hoping Derek doesn't just decide to _go_ but Stiles isn't about to ask him to lay next to him for a post-fuck cuddle and pet.

* * *

 

Derek feels torn open. It's happened to him before; he knows what that feels like, and the comparison is accurate as he shakes and shudders and his hips roll and twitch. It feels like something's ripped the very sense out of him as he leans over Stiles, feeling the twitching aftershocks of Stiles' body around him, and Derek _aches_ with the desire to do more.

Not sex, not per say, but more. He wants to kiss him, to nuzzle in against his throat, to bury his face there and breathe him in. For once he wants to stay. The thoughts wind wildly through him, fluttering like the frailest of birds before he scares them away with an inward snarl. This is sex. This is it. Derek can give it, can coax Stiles through it, and it's enough. And if he fucking spoils Stiles for anyone else? All the better.

Stiles' comment brings Derek back to the present and he can't help but let out a small snort of breathless laughter as he leans his forehead on Stiles' shoulder. He doesn't like the feeling of Stiles' legs unwrapping from him and so Derek hesitates for a long time in letting go of Stiles' leg, but eventually he does. Then Derek settles on him, breathing hard, his eyes closed, and he basks in that moment until Stiles finally mentions he's heavy. Derek grunts, unconcerned, and he's all set to stay there when Stiles tugs at his hair and tries to move him.

With another grunt, less lazy and more irritated, Derek reluctantly makes himself let go. He doesn't want to. He feels _good_. Boneless, sated, his muscles burning in the way only a good fuck can accomplish, his scent all over Stiles, and Stiles' come all over his stomach. That'll be a problem later, Derek knows, but he's got wipes in his car and he can clean up in the house if he's careful. So though he doesn't want to move, Derek finally rolls to the side and gingerly eases his softening cock from Stiles' body. Derek hisses at the oversensitivity of it and takes a moment to slide the condom off and then tie it off. He doesn't throw it away though. He'll need to take it lest the sheriff find it. Or worse, Scott.

Derek looks at Stiles, and he knows he should leave. But before the thought can fully-form, he notes the wet track on his face and follows it. Without thinking, Derek reaches up and brushes the wetness of the tear away from Stiles' cheek. When he realizes what he'd done, he inwardly justifies it by arguing that it had been in response to Stiles stroking his hair. He likes that.

"My ego is the right size," Derek lazily argues, but the bite has gone from his voice as he lays on his side next to Stiles. "You'll be at the next pack meeting on Saturday?"

* * *

 

After sex is kinda awkward. Stiles still isn't exactly sure what he's supposed to do or not do. The downside of this secret sex relationship thing is that Stiles can't exactly ask around for advice. He can't ask Scott because Scott would be all over trying to figure out who it was that Stiles was sleeping with. And Stiles imagines it would be different with Scott and Allison anyway. Those two would probably stare into each other's eyes and whisper sweet nothings. What are you supposed to do with... A fuck buddy? _Buddy_ is a weird word to apply to Derek. Friend with benefits? That's kinda long.

Anyway, usually after sex or BJs or handjobs there's the clean up part. At least Derek's jizz goes in a condom if they fuck whereas Stiles' goes everywhere and he's recently been impressing his dad with his initiative to do his own laundry. That's a plus.

Stiles wouldn't say that he's _not_ a cuddly guy, but cuddling with _Derek_? That's a little more complicated. Stiles is used to touching Derek when he's annoying him (by poking him, elbowing him) and he's used to touching Derek when they're getting down to do the nasty with each other... The in-between time though? That's a whole thwack of unclear for Stiles. While he does _like_ Derek looming over top of him, Derek is a lot of of heavy sweaty muscle on him right now. Stiles wants the closeness, he just doesn't want to be a sandwich.

When Derek does finally move, Stiles could go for the folded towel by his bed and get to work on wiping off some come, but he's feeling stupid and fuck-lazy and _sore_. Instead, he watches Derek pull off the condom. Stiles also has a bag for that shit in his drawer. It feels a little bit like CSI with the whole depositing and transporting of the 'evidence' but whatever...

Derek looks at him and Stiles is about to stick out his tongue because it takes less effort than speaking, but Derek's fingers come to his face and they gently wipe at the wetness there. Stiles' stomach decides to do a weird flip at that. He doesn't say anything and he doesn't move. Stiles had been secretly hoping that Derek wouldn't notice. Stiles is holding his breath, expecting a snarky comment about it... But it doesn't come and he lets out his breath slowly as Derek comes to lay next to him.

While he is physically exhausted, Derek not leaving right away has Stiles excited - just in a different way. Stiles turns - or tries to before he winces and then decides to turn _slower_ to face Derek.

"Big dick ego," Stiles mutters. "Feels like I've been hit by a truck."

He doesn't sound upset by it though. Stiles slides closer, feeling bitchy enough to perhaps incur Derek's wrath. If it blows up in his face, he'll blame the crazy sex they just had. Stiles curls into Derek's chest and lifts an arm to wrap around Derek's side.

"Should be there unless you decide it's werewolf-only."

* * *

Derek's still a man, and so he still has a brief moment when Stiles mutters under his breath where a small smirk touches his lips. While he feels boneless and hot and sated, he can focus a little better now, and hearing Stiles grumble about the size of his dick isn't exactly offputting. If Stiles intends it to be, Derek's smirk makes it very clear what he thinks about Stiles' complaints. Maybe he doesn't know what this is or what to do but Derek does know that after sex always feels good in a different way. Sex is for pleasure, but the afterglow is for those brief moments of relaxation before reality slides back in like an unwelcome guest.

Derek feels lazy, his muscles aching with the strain he'd used and his skin tingling with residual pleasure. If it was his bed, he'd be basking in it, stretching and sprawling and lazy with the desire to just close his eyes and draw his partner in close, but he's not in his bed. He's in Stiles' bed and things are complicated. Still, despite all the complications he can't shove away the fact that he feels good. Case and point: Derek's smiling. Smirking maybe, but it's an expression that he'd not have dared only an hour ago. Lazy confidence goes well with being sated.

"I don't feel bad for you," Derek informs Stiles, and he sounds a _little_ too pleased with himself, but he doesn't care that he does.

He can scent Stiles' irritation, hear the small grinds of his teeth, but Stiles doesn't seem angry with him, just grumpy. Bitchy, if Derek was going to be more vulgar, but he's too fucked-out to care, at least for now. So when Stiles turns and slides in closer, Derek only grunts in acknowledgement and then shifts. He intends to make more room for Stiles, but then he's suddenly got Stiles in close to his chest, curled up against him. Derek's too lazy to freeze though his brain makes a good show of it. He feels Stiles' arm drape around him and Derek looks down at him, hesitant, because this is new and new things aren't always good.

But he wants it. He likes it. He _enjoys_ closeness and sharing space with those he chooses to. Though it's a risk, he reaches out after a moment and wraps one arm around Stiles' side, flattening his palm to Stiles' sweaty back. Derek closes his eyes. Then, seeing as the guy is distracted, he concentrates for a moment and black runs up his veins, taking just the hint of discomfort away from Stiles as subtly as he can. It's weird to feel the ache under his own skin, but good-weird. He'd fucked Stiles properly.

"Meetings are never werewolf-only. Just training. But you can still come to that. You just can't _practice_. If you get hurt, your dad will skin me."

* * *

 

Stiles may have complained about Derek's dick more than a few times now, but Stiles doesn't actually dislike the size of the equipment Derek is working with. Providing that there's enough lube and he's stretched properly, it fits. Obviously. And yeah, blowjobs are a pain in the jaw (literally) but feeling so impossibly full of Derek is a huge turn on (obviously). And whatever he can't fit in his mouth, Stiles just uses his hands and Derek doesn't complain (although in Stiles' humble opinion, if someone opens their mouth to slobber on your dick, you have zero right to complain about _anything)._

He can't check _now_ , but Stiles thinks Derek likes the teasing anyway. He's pretty sure he saw the hint of a smile or a semblance of a smirk before crawling over and deciding to be a little more touchy with Derek. And Derek has never sounded sorry (nor does he pretend to be which is kinda nice).

Stiles doesn't miss that Derek's initial reaction had been to move like he was going to give Stiles more room and yeah, he gets it. He's never went to Derek after anything sexual has happened. Sometimes they just collapse on each other and cuddle _accidentally_ (kinda like the paralysis at the station, oddly enough) but this is obvious in a way that Stiles doesn't know how Derek will take it.

Apparently Derek will allow this. Which is a good thing, yeah. An arm gets wrapped around him, Derek's hand coming to flatten on his back. Stiles is about to yawn when he feels a tingly sensation where Derek is touching him. Now the oddest thing is that he swears that, overall, he somehow feels better. A little less achy. A little less sore. Stiles barely hears what Derek says about meetings versus practices. He blinks rapidly a few times and then, to check, he purposefully wiggles against Derek.

"Did you do something, big guy? You got magical cuddling powers that I'm not aware of?"

Stiles sounds incredulous but he's also genuinely curious. Other than Peter (and he's not very reliable) Derek knows the most about werewolves and supernatural voodoo shit. Derek is the source and Stiles has _so_ many questions that he's burning to ask.

* * *

Derek doesn't truly clue in to what he's done at first. It had been idle and lazy, borne of a good, hard fuck and the ache of weary muscles. In the air he'd been able to scent the faint stirrings of stress and discomfort mixed with the pleasure and the scent of come and he'd not thought about it. He'd just done it.

So Derek doesn't give any thought to it when Stiles stills and then begins to squirm experimentally. He just makes a small sound, almost one of protest at the squirming, and he presses down harder against Stiles' back to keep him still. He's more distracted by the fact that Stiles is actually here, actually _willingly_ flopping against him. Admittedly this time had been rougher than normal. A little reassurance won't hurt.

Then Stiles speaks and Derek's just confused enough that it breaks through the haze. He looks down at him with a small frown, blanking. Then he scents the air and notes that Stiles' pained scent has diminished. It takes him all of a few seconds to connect the fact _he_ is briefly hurting instead and then Derek just goes unnaturally still.

He looks down at his hand on Stiles' back and his pulse skips a little in realization. He wets his lips and then draws a slow breath, some of the lazy afterglow suddenly feeling a bit further away. He's absolutely going to lie for awhile when he realizes that Stiles is asking because he legitimately doesn't _know_. Scott clearly hadn't told him, and Derek isn't sure anyone else has either. Derek's jaw works for a second and he debates the intelligence of saying anything. But in the end... he doesn't want to lie. Stiles doesn't have to know what it _means_...

"You were sore," he says dismissively, like he isn't feeling shaken. Like he doesn't suddenly want to leave. Derek's muscles have tensed and he looks over at the window, aching to stay but not wanting too many questions. "Werewolves can take on the pain of others. Give them some relief. We heal quickly so it's not a big deal. Might help you get some sleep."

* * *

 

Stiles may have a lot of questions, but he tries to not overload Derek. If Derek is in a good mood, Derek will answer one or two questions that are not deemed too stupid. If Derek isn't in such a knowledge-sharing mood or if the questions are too ridiculous, he'll growl and tell Stiles to piss off. While Stiles has obviously not phrased _this_ question well he hardly can be blamed.

While he's not completely healed or whatever, he definitely feels better. The ache and fatigue has lessened. He feels less obliterated by Derek Hale's sexual prowess. Now, Stiles is pretty sure he hasn't been slipped anything. And he _had_ felt something when Derek touched him. It's gotta be Derek.

Derek goes still. Admittedly, it's not a great sign to feel Derek tense. Stiles doesn't move away, though. Stiles has no freakin' clue what he's said, done or asked that perturbed Derek, but Derek is honestly an easily perturbed kind of guy. It doesn't take much. Maybe the phrase 'magical cuddling powers' had been the kicker. Stiles could see why the big bad Alpha wolf wouldn't care for it. But Derek _does_ respond and the answer only sparks more question because why wouldn't it!?

"Whoa, really? That's so cool. So, how does it work?" Stiles lifts his head to to look at Derek, clearly interested and his curiosity piqued. "Can you all can do it or does it take like special training? Does it need, like, some mindset of zen to accomplish it?"

* * *

 

Derek wonders idly how Scott might react to the news, whether or not he'd be furious. Granted Derek isn't even sure that Scott knows about this trick, as Derek hadn't taught it to him, but there are other ways in which Scott might have once learned it. Scott's been a werewolf for long enough that he's got to have picked up a few things by now, but whether or not he's shared those with Stiles is another matter. Given the way that Stiles responds - with clear interest - Derek's going to guess that Scott hadn't told him, which is both blessing and curse. Derek isn't sure he _wants_ to respond.

The afterglow seems like something in the past all of a sudden, because this is confirmation. If Stiles finds out it won't be the end of the world. It's not like it means that Derek has _chosen_ him or anything, but it also doesn't mean that Stiles is just another nobody in the world. It speaks of connection, and that _Derek_ can do it is hint enough. Derek bites his tongue for a moment, reluctant to continue. However, looking down at Stiles and watching the look on his face, Derek can see the curiosity, the wonder in his eyes. Derek wets his lips thoughtfully after a moment.

"Every wolf can do it. The ability to sense that another is in pain is imperative. Alphas can take more than Betas; our ability to tolerate pain is higher. And yes," he adds before Stiles can ask him, "we feel the pain we take."

* * *

There's the condom to take care of, the sweat and come combination that should be wiped off and yet Stiles is blabbering on about this. Well, this is much cooler because werewolf magical cuddling powers!? This is some cool interesting shit and now that Stiles feels better, feeling better leads to talking more. Surely Derek knows this already. (It doesn't enter his mind that Derek may have done the thing subconsciously.)

Derek isn't quick to answer, however and Stiles begins to wonder if this is perhaps the end of their night together, if his questions are going to have Derek scrambling away and dismissing him. Stiles wouldn't be exactly shocked by it. He knows he can be a little overeager and he had no idea if this is somehow a sensitive topic (how's he supposed to know if no one tells him?).

But Derek looks down at him and makes the decision to answer. Does Derek see relief when he does? Stiles doesn't know and he's not going to ask. Instead, he listens and Stiles learns more about his friends, more about their abilities. Stiles' mouth twitches at the last addition: that Derek can apparently feel _his_ pain.

"So, like, technically you did this to yourself," Stiles begins. "You feel the 'I just got fucked by Derek' discomfort then, huh?" Stiles smiles, but it's not malicious. He scratches his nails down Derek's back. "Thanks, by the way but now that I know you can do this, I may be soliciting you often. Every little headache, you'll be my man."

* * *

 

Derek does notice Stiles' relief but he doesn't really understand it. Not immediately. His focus is too great when it comes to what they're talking about now. Derek hadn't ever intended Stiles to know about the healing aspect, mostly as Derek hadn't been sure it'd work on him. Until now. And while Stiles doesn't understand what a big deal it is now, Derek does. It makes the whole damn thing really distracting, and a part of him thinks he would already be packing up to leave were it not for the way Stiles' expression breaks out into an immediate grin.

The sight of it twists something in Derek's chest, a little pang that edges closer to real pain but settles soon enough. Stiles looks interested, but there's also a gentle teasing in his eyes as he looks at Derek. And despite Derek's inward panic over what he's just had confirmed, not even he can resist the immediate flat look he sends Stiles at the very ubsubtle insinuation. The worst part of it is that Derek's ass does hurt for the few seconds it takes for the pain to dissipate. He grunts, both at the sensation and the awkward realization that he's feeling himself.

"Shut up," Derek grumbles, and he gives Stiles' hip a quick pinch in reprimand, but there's an accidental flash of amusement in his eyes even as he says it. Stiles is perceptive enough. Derek only wishes this could be the reality between them. It's not though. So for now he lets himself drift on the sensation, on the scratch of Stiles' nails that has Derek sighing, and at what he says.

"Don't piss me off and we'll see. If you pull shit like you did at the meeting earlier I might just let you suffer your own headaches just out of spite."

* * *

 

This is the most interesting shit he's learned in a while, okay. Derek literally has like Jesus hands or some shit. Well, apparently they all do! Now Stiles wants to go ask Scott if he's ever used it on Allison or whatever, like as some dating perk. Is this a perk that _he's_ going to get from Derek now? Stiles wants to ask, his brain is waking up and starting to form questions to shoot at Derek because he's the one currently at Stiles' disposal.

He gets a very Derek-esque look from Derek, all unimpressed but hey, it's true. Stiles' discomfort had been from Derek's cock ramming into him. This has definitely been their most rough sex and yeah, they'd both liked it. (Stiles still isn't ready to acknowledge that he actually teared up at the intensity, that Derek's hand over his mouth had been so hot...)

For his brattiness, Derek gives him a pinch to his hip and Stiles squirms, hissing at the slight flare of pain. It's obviously not as bad as the post-banging had been, but Stiles kinda likes being affected by Derek, that Derek can linger and stay with his body like this. The slight ache is still there but it's now more manageable. Stiles can still see that Derek is at least a little amused by the observation of Derek momentarily being able to feel himself in such a way, so that's good.

"Oooh, but you can get sexy when you're all pissed off," Stiles comments, eyebrows waggling in suggestion. He then realizes how close they are and that they're both wet with sweat and come. Truly, it doesn't take much to get him going and he thinks this is the longest time Derek has stayed. Stiles leans forward to whisper in Derek's ear. "Sometimes when you're going all Alpha Daddy on them all I can think about is you forcing me to suck your dick."

* * *

 

Derek should be gone. He's never stayed this long in Stiles' bed after sex, and he's never done it for a reason. But he'd never fucked him quite that hard before, hard enough for tears of overstimulation to prick at Stiles' eyes. Hard enough for him to be left shaking and twitching and weak enough that he'd crawled over to Derek for contact. It's what Derek is assuming is the cause behind the impromptu near-cuddling. Stiles' body had sought out comfort without him being aware of it. It's awkward, but Derek's adult enough to not look too deeply into it even if he wants to.

But Stiles looks like he's recovered some. The sting will be back in time; Derek's efforts are temporary, but Stiles should be good for the evening at least. If he's good, that means he's likely going to want Derek to go soon, so Derek is already gearing himself up for that even as the two of them talk. But what Derek _isn't_ expecting is what Stiles responds with. Derek's eyebrows shoot up, both in incredulity (Seriously? _Alpha Daddy?_ ) and in surprise. He stares blankly, because he thinks Stiles means that he finds him hot when he's angry, but the little wiggle of Stiles' eyebrows is downright ridiculous (and endearing...).

Then Derek draws a breath to answer but he pauses soon after. He scents the slight increase in arousal the moment before Stiles leans in to whisper into Derek's ear, and that... _that_ sends something hot and sensitive shooting through Derek's body. He draws a sharp breath, hesitates, and then turns his head just enough to chance a glance back at Stiles. He's never stayed for a second round before, but with the way Stiles is talking... Derek swallows.

"You get off on that idea," Derek whispers, not a question. He knows. He can smell it. _Alpha Daddy_ doesn't bear mentioning. "It would be a good way to shut you up when you're being particularly mouthy, I suppose."

* * *

 

He's young and he had to wait practically forever until he got laid. Stiles' sex drive is healthy, okay. Derek Hale is here, a veritable walking wet dream fantasy (been there, done that). And it's... Safer to be be dirty talking anyway. Although, Stiles doesn't know if this is technically dirty talking because it's more like a tangent that he's brought up. Anything dirty is usually done as a prequel to sexy times or during. They haven't really talked about stuff _after_ the fact. Stiles is pretty sure he could get it up again. Okay, he _knows_ he could and he believes that Derek could too. Derek is all healthy and strapping.

Even though this after sex moment is completely new, Derek is still a dude and he obviously likes blowjobs so Stiles does get a reaction. Stiles hears the sudden breath and he's feeling all proud as Derek leans back to look at him. God, he likes it when Derek just states things - _I know you like my big dick, I know you like to cling like a monkey, you're going to scream like a bitch etc_ (but said Derek-ly). On one hand it's kind of irritating to have someone know, but Derek can pick up and smell when he's aroused, he can hear his damn pulse. There's no point in lying.

"You like when I'm noisy," Stiles points out, minx-like. And maybe because things feel like they're doing well he just _has_ to add on in a rush, "Hey, can I ever lick your fangs or touch 'em? I like them. I don't know. Is that weird? Maybe it's a kink. They're hot. Like your claws. Could you... ever just touch me with them?"

* * *

 

Derek's about to cut in, about to argue that he likes it when Stiles is _moaning_ or groaning or making sounds of general sexual pleasure, not when he's _noisy_ , because there's hardly a second that goes by where Stiles isn't noisy. He's going to mention it. He really is. But before he can so much as take a breath to argue his case, Stiles rushes on with extreme enthusiasm and Derek's almost stunned by the sheer speed of the words.

Then he tries to think, to understand what had been said (he's still a little fucked out, and more than just a bit distracted at the idea of _forcing_ Stiles to suck his cock) but when he realizes that Stiles had mentioned his fangs and his claws...

Derek sits up. It likely knocks Stiles askew a little, but it's not something he can stay laying down for. Something in his skin itches; he can feel his instincts - what he calls _his wolf_ \- rearing up in interest, lifting its metaphorical head with glowing eyes. Derek's next swallow catches in his throat. He's never had anyone express an interest in his fangs before, let alone his claws. The few people he's slept with who had known what he was had never wanted to see him as anything but human. The issue is that Derek _wants_ Stiles. The temptation to Bite, the danger behind it... Derek shivers, his eyes bright.

He should leave. He's already up; it'd be safer to get the Hell out of there because this topic is dangerous. But... does he really want Stiles afraid of him? Derek's not enough of an ass to forget that admitting to something like that takes courage, even if it is stupid.

The look Derek sends Stiles is wary but there's a definite flicker of interest in his eyes. He looks conflicted.

"That depends. Do you _want_ to be a wolf?" Derek asks, and his tone likely sounds more biting than is necessary. He at least notices it and reels it back in. "Or... do you think you could stay still? My claws are no problem, but they're _sharp_. My fangs could turn you if you moved."

* * *

 

After sex it's totally appropriate to discuss kinks, right? They may not be boyfriends or life partners or whatever, but Stiles thinks it should be normal to talk about this kind of stuff and whatnot. Food for thought. Planning. Goal setting for the bedroom. Or something. His dad had always impressed on him ' _if you're old enough to have sex, you'd better be able to talk about it'_ so here he is. Talking about it.

Kinda.

Stiles has long been fascinated with werewolves. Okay, with anything cool and supernatural and nerdy. It's just the kind of complex interesting kind of guy he is. He has multiple interests, but his interest in Derek's fangs and claws and werewolf-iness is different than how he feels toward Scott or any of the others. Maybe it's just sexual desire that's coloring over everything, his damn teenage hormones that have decided to latch onto anything and everything Derek.

Whatever it is, he's apparently shocked the Alpha because Derek suddenly sits up and in doing so Stiles is displaced. Stiles understands that it's probably a little left of center, a bit random to jump from blowjob fantasies to a weird werewolf kink, but hey, Stiles is kind of random. It's his thing.

But Derek looks oddly interested? At least Stiles thinks that it's interested. It's also leery. When Derek speaks, Stiles is in the process of sitting up himself, but he pauses when the question comes about _wanting_ to be a werewolf. That's... a loaded question. Peter had offered him The Bite and Stiles had turned him down. Stiles doesn't think this is another one of those situations. Derek isn't _offering_ but warning. Stiles stops his movement and actually takes a moment to take a deeper breath. The idea of laying still for Derek to use his claws or fangs... it has his heart beating wildly, has his dick getting interested too.

"I trust you," Stiles states, his voice barely louder than a whisper. It's then he decides to lay down on his back and in front of Derek. "I want you to touch me. With them," Stiles murmurs and places his arms by his side. "Let me see you."

* * *

 

Derek shouldn't be doing this. He should be smart. He _should_ be taking the damn condom on the bed beside him, dressing again, and fucking off to his Camaro where he can dispose of the condom and get somewhere safer, but he's not doing that. He's not... because Stiles is looking at him and Derek can hear how quickly his heart is beating. There's no mistaking it, nor how badly Stiles is interested in what he's saying. Derek practically feels dizzy from the knowledge.

He should be scaring Stiles away, shoving him away, standing and getting the Hell out of there and making enough noise to wake the sheriff so Stiles can't follow him.

Instead he's left watching, wary, as Stiles looks at him and then slowly lays back on the bed. Derek looks over a fucking acre of pale skin, dotted with birth marks, but while the sight goes right down to his core, what really rends him through are those three simple words: I trust you.

No one trusts Derek. Derek sure as hell doesn't even trust himself. The very breath feels stolen from him in that second, because while his pack depends on him, Derek doesn't think any of them _trust_ him. Except Stiles. It means more than it should, and it lodges something dangerous in his throat that he swallows back. And even as Derek looks down at Stiles, he knows he can't leave now. He won't. Instead he closes his eyes, fights to focus and steady himself, fights to find the calm within.

When he opens his eyes again, they're red. He reaches over and sets one hand firmly on Stiles' chest, nails human, but he puts enough pressure there to _keep_ him there. Then, eyes still glowing red, Derek holds up his other hand and lets Stiles watch as his claws grow. Derek feels the ache of it, the unsettling restlessness that comes from a slight-shift. He reaches over, and when he sets his hand down on Stiles' shoulder, the slight drag of claws is feather-light, and even that could leave welts were Derek not careful.

"I mean it," Derek says on a low growl. "You can't move. If you can stay still, I'll _consider_ my fangs... but even then, avoid the points unless you want to turn."

This is the stupidest thing he's _ever_ done. Derek's sure that even his uncle would kick his ass for this if he were to tell him.

* * *

 

A bite from an Alpha can turn another into a werewolf. Or kill them. Peter had bitten Scott and Derek had bitten Isaac, Erica and Boyd. An Alpha's fangs are dangerous - deadly. Their fangs are sharp, able to rend flesh if the necessary force is used. There's a danger in this - of course - but Stiles is also the kind of guy who likes a little danger. Or he's at least this stupid (apparently). And Stiles then has the thought that it's unlikely that someone has ever asked for this from Derek. At least, he can't imagine this being a usual request. Stiles likes the idea that maybe this is Derek's first time (because Derek has been far too many firsts for Stiles, he'd like to be one for Derek, too).

A part of him still thinks Derek is going to flip out on him. That Derek is going to come to his senses and change his mind. Even _Stiles_ knows this is probably a bad idea and yet...

And yet he's still laying down in front of Derek and proclaiming his trust. And Stiles _does._ He doesn't know if Derek trusts _him_ , though. He remembers how adamant Derek had been when Stiles was holding him up in the pool. Stiles doesn't think Derek trusts in general, but he sees the desire - he sees Derek want to trust the others at least. (And Stiles has seen each one of them let Derek down too.)

As if Derek is still battling himself on this issue, Stiles watches Derek close his eyes. All Stiles can do is remain still and be hopeful? It's an interesting position to be in. He's not going to beg. He's not going to yammer or joke either. He understands that this is serious. Derek's eyes are red when he opens them and Stiles exhales slowly to try and compose himself. A hand comes to push on his chest - to hold him still - and Stiles doesn't wiggle or push against it. Derek's other hand lifts and, even though there's little light provided from his the streetlight outside, Stiles can still see when claws grow. Stiles' first thought is that it's cool that Derek can control the shift to this degree and only do it with _one_ hand.

Then Derek reaches and claws come into contact with his shoulder. Stiles' mouth parts on a quiet gasp. They feel rough, almost blunt, but Stiles knows they're far from harmless. Derek is barely touching him, just the lightest of grazes across his skin. 

"No moving," Stiles affirms. He may consciously not be moving, but blood is flowing south anyway. "Just want you to touch me... Wanna feel you, Derek." The last statement is barely a whisper.

* * *

This is impossibly reckless. If Derek were to slip and claw Stiles, the wound would take months to heal. It would likely do what it had with Jackson, would either implant memories and nightmares or threaten to turn him, or both. It's the stupidest thing that Derek has done in a long time, and he'd formed a truce with _Scott_. But looking down at Stiles now, seeing the flush to his skin and the way his cock is already starting to harden again against his abdomen, Derek _feels_ more reckless. It's an awful idea, but when he presses his claws to Stiles' skin and feels the way it gives slightly, the way Stiles goes perfectly still... it's hot.

Derek's eyes glow bright. Derek's never had anyone do this for him before, has never allowed himself to do this for anyone else. He's so mindful of his touch that it's almost a meditative experience, his claws pressing but not scratching and his fangs aching to grow in his mouth, though he doesn't let himself do it. Not yet.

"This is the most reckless thing you've ever done," Derek tells Stiles, because Stiles should be running the other way. He shouldn't be encouraging this at all. It's dangerous. It's also easier to blame Stiles for this than for Derek to admit to himself that he wants to do it so badly. He swallows. "And you never, _ever_ stay out of trouble."

The Kanima, the mechanic, running Jackson over with his Jeep, the _numerous_ times that something's popped up in Beacon Hills and Stiles has just gone full-tilt after it despite being a damn human... Stiles has a habit of this by now. Derek tries not to care. He trails his claws slowly down Stiles' chest, following the rhythm of his breathing and letting him feel the mild scrape without daring to break the skin. Derek looks down, watching as Stiles' dick fills out again and he shakes his head slightly, honestly surprised.

"You really like this."

* * *

 Strangely enough, this is the single most erotic experience Stiles has ever had with Derek. Actually, in his entire life. It's quiet but somehow profound. Normally with Derek it's all hot and heavy, hands groping, hips seeking and Stiles likes that. He's definitely not going to complain. But this... This is almost on another plane of existence, it's something different entirely. Stiles isn't sure he's ever been this still in his life, that's he's even been able or willing to obey so completely and to be so enthralled.

But he is.

Derek's eyes burn red and Stiles doesn't look away from that stubbled face. He doesn't want to track the movement, he doesn't want to see or try and predict where Derek's claws will go. He wants to _feel_ it, to discover it. His skin is alive with sensation and when Derek speaks, Stiles is inclined to agree. This is reckless. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

Stiles isn't going to ask for it to stop, though. He's not going to ask for _Derek_ to stop. He wants this. He likes this. Derek's claws trail down his chest and sensation prickles along Stiles' skin. It's like fire and ice but Stiles can't decide which one. And Stiles doesn't miss that Derek sends his cock a look. Yeah, he's got a growing boner.

And then Derek's _comment_ comes about liking it and Stiles has to work damn hard to not shudder. It's nearly impossible but he somehow manages it.

"God, yes-- yeah," Stiles hisses. "Gee, I wonder what gave it away?" He then exhales slowly. "You could... maybe press a little harder?" His suggestion only causes him to get more turned on.

* * *

 

Derek can justify staying. He can. He's never had anyone express an interest in this before, never had someone express an interest in _him_ before past his looks and the size of his dick. Not since Paige, and he never wants to think about her and what had happened again. But as he looks down at Stiles and feels his wolf practically howling triumph in his chest, he knows he could grow easily addicted to the feeling of being wanted. Not wanted for his body, but for everything. For his mind, his body, his morals, his thoughts, and both sides of himself. He aches for it, but even as he watches Stiles shudder and struggle to stay still under him, Derek knows it's too much to ask. This is the closest he'll come and it's maddening.

But it's also burning hot, his heart pounding, his eyes red, his instincts pushing and snarling for _more_. Derek looks down at Stiles and he feels his fangs beginning to slide down, feels himself beginning to ache, his jaw itching to snap and bite. His claws falter for only a moment as he looks at Stiles' pale side, his stomach covered in come. _Right there_ , Derek thinks, eyeing a large pale spot on Stiles' side where there are no birthmarks. He'd bite him there...

Stiles' voice cuts through the haze of Derek's mind then, and the scent of his arousal washes over him sharply. Derek feels his own body responding, feels the desire...and then the words actually _register_ and everything shatters.

Harder... pressing harder would break the skin. Derek could inadvertently injure him, could threaten to turn him, could make Stiles - a _human_ \- live horrors, or give him a part of the change without consenting. The idea of biting Stiles without his consent makes something lurch in Derek's chest. What's worse is that at that moment, hearing Stiles' pulse, scenting his arousal... he _wants_ to.

Derek pulls back so quickly that he almost _does_ scratch Stiles. Before Stiles can so much as open his eyes, Derek's on his feet, his expression tight, his eyes still glinting red, his cock half-hard. He looks at Stiles for a half a second, then grabs his wet clothes off of the floor, turning away. He makes a point to breathe in through his mouth.

"I can't. And you _shouldn't_. Do you _know_ the risk you just..." Derek shakes his head, quick, and steps into his jeans. "Be at the meeting.

* * *

 

Stiles can't know how important this is to Derek, if it's meaningful or just strangely sexy in the way some _out there_ kinks are (he's not one to judge). Early on, Derek had made things pretty clear that it was just sex. Derek has never been the chatty, share-his-feelings type anyway... And it's not like, just because they're in the bone zone, that Stiles can expect that to change. Honestly, he's still surprised that they managed to cuddle all of three minutes. Achievement unlocked!

(But for all of Stiles joking, it's not like he actually believes Derek is _incapable_ of such things, but losing your whole family in a fire and having Peter for an uncle doesn't lend itself well to trust and stability.)

Stiles doesn't think anything of his request. It's not like he _wants_ Derek to legit gouge him open, he just wants that slight burn, like a very fine papercut that maybe only has one bubble of blood gather. And it's kinda ironic because Stiles has always been more squeamish about that sort of thing, but it's with _Derek_ , it'd be Derek doing it, maybe even Derek licking--

It's definitely not going to be Derek doing it because Derek is bolting away all wolf-fast and Stiles is alone on the bed and not being touched. Stiles is blinking in startled confusion and worry when he sits up and he's quick enough to notice that Derek isn't exactly _soft_. Stiles runs a hand through his sweaty hair as Derek goes for his clothes.

Then the lecture comes and that has Stiles jumping out of bed and poking Derek on the shoulder. "Hey, don't get all high and mighty with me, I know you were into it too," Stiles huffs. "You think you can just start something and dash and then boss me around?"

Stiles has the sinking feeling that that's exactly what Derek thinks and is going to do.

* * *

 

Derek's jeans are already on but unbuckled by the time that Stiles scrambles onto his feet. He doesn't buckle them; his cock is still half-hard and it's more than a little uncomfortable to even feel the rasp of the wet denim, but Derek's expression is set, almost cut in stone, as he grabs his Henley and yanks it on over his head. The fabric clings and gets caught over his chest for a moment before Derek manages to get it back on, and then the jab to his shoulder comes. Derek's jaw tightens and the look he sends Stiles is nothing short of sharp.

He's got to. For Stiles' own good. For _his_ own good. Stiles clearly doesn't understand how badly Derek wants to Bite him, to turn him, to feel blood welling up under fangs and claws. To grip and fuck without restraint. To clutch him close, to steal a single moment of something more than this. It's dangerous. Stiles may be old enough for it, but he's not... that's not what this is or has ever been. Derek knows how this goes, but he also knows himself enough to know that he's dangerously close to breaking.

So he wheels on Stiles with a low growl and - with one fluid movement - Derek sets his hand on Stiles' chest and shoves him _hard_ , slamming him back against the wall. He's mindful not to hurt him, not to let his head knock against the drywall, but Derek holds him there clearly and he makes enough noise that - distantly - he hears the sheriff stir. It's cowardly. It's practically _Peter_ in nature, but it does its job. Derek leans in close and points a finger in Stiles' face, his eyes flickering red before Derek forces them to fade.

"I never should have-- _We_ never should have done that. One scratch, Stiles. _One_ scratch, and you might have been hallucinating for weeks, if not worse. Be at the meeting," Derek growls. "And think of something to tell your dad. I'd cover up if I were you."

Derek catches Stiles' gaze with his own for one moment, just long enough for regret to flicker in his eyes. Then he shoves his shoes on, grab his jacket, and opens the window. With a single bounding leap, Derek launches himself onto the driveway below and takes off, the light from the sheriff's room blinking on not a few seconds after.

* * *

 

Okay, maybe it is dangerous. Maybe it is reckless, but Stiles trusts Derek. He doesn't think Derek would actually hurt him. It's just... Exploring. Testing the limits. It's just them trying something new... And maybe getting _closer_ in the process because Stiles has never seen Derek look at him for so long with his eyes glowing red. With such focus like Derek maybe knew everything that was in his head (and that it was okay).

The truth is, Stiles doesn't want Derek to go. They don't necessarily have to finish or start up again with the whole claw-maybe-fang-play. It doesn't matter what they do, Stiles just thinks he wants to spend some more time alone with Derek. It's not perfect, it's far from ideal having to talk so quietly and hide and hope to not wake his dad, but it's something. It's more than a rushed kiss in a dark alley or pretending to be caustic allies in front of the others.

Derek pulls his shirt on before turning around on him and it's not hot to see Derek upset now. Derek looks unkind and _is_ unkind as Stiles is then shoved into his wall. It's not a gentle, friendly push. It's the kind of push that reminds Stiles how weak he is in comparison to Derek. Stiles' expression is a mix of incredulity, anger and fear as he's held there, naked and at Derek's mercy.

It's not sexy or fun anymore. It's complicated and shitty when Derek berates him but Stiles resists trying to fight Derek off as it would be futile (and he doesn't need the reminder). The parting comment about lying to his dad and covering up has Stiles giving Derek an unimpressed stare. It's not as if this is their first rodeo. Stiles knows that he needs to hide his sex bruises--

But then Derek isn't touching him at all and Derek is finishing getting dressed and jumping out the window like a bandit. Then Stiles hears it: his dad waking up and likely coming to investigate the sounds. _Oh_.

Stiles looks down at himself before he hops into action and searches out his boxers, getting them on in record time.

"Stiles bud, you okay, in there?" His dad sounds tired, but at least he just knocked and is trying to give him some privacy.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, you know, just enjoying myself. A little self-loving. Passionate. Never hurt anyone..." Well, he _did_ get off. It's not a complete lie.

"Uh huh," his dad replies and then Stiles thinks he hears some grumbling about _masturbating like a normal boy_ when his dad walks away.

Stiles swallows, feeling like he's dodged a bullet. He grabs the towel and does his best to clean up but what he really needs is a shower. When he finally climbs back into bed, it's then he realizes that Derek hadn't taken the condom. It's on the corner of his bed, discarded and forgotten. Stiles can relate.


	2. Contention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles Stilinski is _infuriating_ and he never shuts up, but his scent has been burned into Derek's mind, and it's not just about the physical. Yes, it is _now_ , but there had been so many nights spent in Stiles' bedroom at three in the morning, stressed and on edge and lost until Stiles had made some damn comment to snap him out of it. Stiles had always been there, a veritable lifeline despite their supposed antagonism, and Derek's never been known for making good choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (￣▽￣)ノPack feels, heyyyy! ♥
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

The next meeting Stiles is on the sofa, phone in hand and his sneakered feet up on the coffee table. The bruises on his hips and chest are obviously covered. It's been three days since Derek had popped in for a midnight romp and then pushed him and left. Stiles hasn't even texted the guy. He's still a little pissed off about the treatment and he's still sore, but Stiles thinks he's perfected coming across fine. Being _human_ and being _Stiles_ usually helps him slip under the radar.

He's early. Erica had let him in and she'd flounced off to wherever, probably to go perfect her blonde bombshell look. So, Stiles pokes around on his phone and tries to not feel like he's looking forward to see Derek. (Because he's totally not.)

Maybe Derek's brooding is rubbing off on him because Erica plops down beside him - close and in his personal space - their bodies touching and Stiles freezes. He hadn't heard her. And she's wearing shoes with those loud stiletto heels that could kill a man (hopefully not him).

"Hi Stiles," she greets and lays her head on his shoulder, working her arm in between his to hold onto it.

"Erica. Yo." She may be Boyd's, she may be scary, but she's still hot and Stiles doesn't have a lot of up close and personal experience with scantily clad women. "Shouldn't-- Shouldn't there be like a foot between us or something? Boyd?"

Erica snuggles her head in closer. "Boyd's doing recon, won't be at this meeting. And he's not possessive. At least he wouldn't be with you. You're not a threat, Stiles." She laughs fondly.

Stiles isn't necessarily amused, but it's true. Great. Apparently he should create a list of ' _Ways to emasculate Stiles Stilinski'._ She doesn't feel bad against him and he knows nothing will happen (and she's stronger than him, so Stiles can't even push her off). He resigns himself to this fate of being Erica's couch slave.

Thankfully Scott and Isaac arrive next and they both give him a look and Stiles just lifts his eyebrows in defeat.

"She's unstoppable," he says.

"Damn right I am," Erica agrees, all womanly and powerful and Isaac snorts as he comes to sit next to Scott on the other sofa.

"Probably best to just let her do her thing. Women are like that," Scott offers.

"Thanks," Stiles says, deadpan.

* * *

Derek doesn't feel good about what he'd done that night, but he doesn't let himself think about it. He's Alpha of their pack, disjointed and complicated as it currently is. He doesn't let anyone see that anything is wrong, though Derek doesn't fool himself. A few of the pack members know that something is wrong but he doesn't confirm or deny anything. He'd managed to shower after coming back from Stiles' place, and no one had seen him. Derek's spent the better part of the last three days keeping busy and ensuring the rest of his pack is as well. At least... the ones who listen.

 _Isaac_ , Derek thinks bitterly. These days it feels like Isaac is the only one who actually listens to him. Between Boyd's curious looks and Peter's knowing ones and Jackson's uncaring ones, he already feels irritable.

So when he makes it to the loft and the scent of _Stiles_ washes over him, Derek freezes on the ground floor. Derek's pointedly _not_ been thinking about him, but there's no escaping it now. He'd told Stiles to come, and Stiles is here. And given that Derek's arms are laden with pizza, there's no way they can't smell him yet. So, resigned, Derek's expression pinches as he walks upstairs, meeting Peter on the way up, who shoots him a slower, knowing look that makes Derek's hackles lift. He storms ahead and pretends not to notice his uncle's amusement.

By the sound of it, most of the pack is already there. Derek shoulders the door open with his peace offering and tries not to feel pleased when he sees a few eyes light up at the sight of the boxes in his arms. Derek sets them down on the table, though not before sending Stiles a long, pinched look at the sight of his feet on the table. Derek waits all of a wonderful six seconds before he knocks Stiles' sneakers off of the table and then goes to take a seat in his armchair.

Peter strolls in not long after, apparently oblivious to the slightly less-than-thrilled looks his presence gains. He casts Stiles and Erica a sidelong look that makes Derek want to claw him, because there's curiosity and amusement in Peter's eyes. Derek doesn't like the sight. He likes it even less when Peter walks past him and takes a kitchen chair instead of going for the spiral staircase he always tends to favor. Instead Peter turns the chair around the wrong way and sits down, his arms folded over the back of it. Derek shoots him a suspicious glance.

"Boyd's on recon," Derek says in lieu of greeting. "Jackson's with him. Eat. God only knows I'll get nothing out of you until you do."

* * *

As Stiles doesn't possess a supreme olfactory ability, he doesn't know that pizza is here until Derek is coming in and he's visually ID'ed with said pizza. And his stupid muscles bulge out while holding the boxes too. How does the guy look so good in a t-shirt? Probably because the shirt is one size too small. Derek's gotta know it too. Stiles' feet are, predictably kicked off the coffee table but he only gives a mildly-affronted squawk. It's difficult to be irritated when Derek bought them all pizza to chow down on.

When Peter comes in Stiles wrinkles his nose. That guy _definitely_ gives him the creeps and he'd rather have him hunched over on the stairs than anywhere _near_ them but Peter is apparently going to bless them and be in their vicinity. Yay...

"The man knows what works," Stiles chirps up, committed to trying to be himself still in the midst of a hot blonde cuddling up to him and the uncertain parting of Derek and him.

Scott just grins and goes for the meat lovers pizza.

"You are so predictable," Isaac comments with a smile as he watches Scott stack three pieces on a napkin.

Scott snorts. "Oh shut up, he bought you Hawaiian, you pineapple lover."

That has Isaac perking up and coming over to the table to help himself. Scott just grins and settles back on the couch chomping at his piece.

Stiles wants pizza. Pizza and Stiles get along great but Stiles has girl on him.

He glances down at Erica and then over to Derek who looks more grumpy than usual but Stiles has no idea why. He didn't even do anything (yet). His feet on the coffee table is hardly anything new.

"I'll let you fed me," Erica suddenly announces and this has Stiles sitting up straighter.

"Whoa, girl, I'm not into--"

Scott laughs with a mouthful of pizza.

"Into what, dumbass? Feeding a pretty werewolf some pizza? This werewolf chick could kick your ass - _has_ kicked your ass, even."

Stiles makes a startled sound and glances around the room. Is anyone else hearing this? She's practically threatening him.

It's pretty obvious that no help is coming his way. Erica lets go of his arm and then points at the pizza she wants. "Go, Stiles," she orders, her glossy pink lips curving into an evil smile that Lydia would have been proud over.

Stiles goes. He's pretty sure if he wasn't kinda sorta banging Derek and she wasn't with Boyd, it would be hot, but that's not the case. Stiles is frowning carefully as he lifts the vegetarian piece to her mouth (the irony isn't lost on him either).

He's also aware that Derek is watching him and Stiles is trying very hard to focus more on his awkwardness and reluctance than anything else.

* * *

Derek can feel his uncle's gaze on the back of his neck, pressing and cloying in a way akin to an ant crawling on his skin. He wants to wheel around and knock Peter off of his chair, but Derek knows better than to do that in mixed company. He might not like Peter (or... it's complicated at least) but he knows when to keep his own personal shit out of pack life.

It's been a week since Derek had put down the Omega who had invaded their territory, and Peter had been as much of an asset as anyone else in the pack (excluding Jackson). Peter's earned his place. Trusting him and _liking_ him is another matter altogether. Derek still feels a little like a child whenever he gives Peter commands, and the uncertainty clearly isn't lost on his uncle.

It's not lost on him now. While Peter's gaze is on Derek, Derek's is on Stiles and Erica. He distantly notices Scott and Isaac enthusiastically going for the pizza (and wonders idly at how much time they've been spending together as of late, especially considering Scott's transient nature as part of the pack) but his focus is almost completely on Stiles, and on the way Erica is cuddled up against him.

Derek pointedly does not clench his jaw. He does not growl or let his eyes flash red. Honestly at this point, Derek's not sure what he can do. He has no claim on Stiles, _especially_ not during a meeting, and given the way Derek had abandoned him to his father a few nights ago... He clenches his fist but otherwise does nothing.

"Young love," Peter says behind Derek, and Derek's shoulders tense. "Or young manipulation. In some cases, the same thing."

Derek glances back at his uncle, noting the small smile on his lips. He watches as Peter leans forward and places his chin on the back of his forearm. "Really, Derek, you should be proud."

"He's feeding her pizza," Derek deadpans back. "Nothing else."

"Not yet."

Peter's smirk is like a splinter, digging deeply under Derek's skin. Peter stands, taking a few of the napkins and a piece of the meat lover's pizza for himself, then walks back to his seat.

It's only when Peter lifts an eyebrow at him that Derek realizes he's been glaring. Given the sidelong glance Isaac is giving him, he's not the only one who's noticed. Derek forces his expression to calm.

"Erica, you're perfectly capable of feeding yourself. Let Stiles eat. If his mouth is full, he can't cut in."

Derek pointedly does not think about what _else_ can make Stiles shut up. He sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

"As of this morning, there's been no sight of another Omega in our territory, though Boyd and Jackson are checking now. You're all going to do patrols until I'm satisfied."

* * *

It's an interesting situation to be in. Erica is turned to him, batting her eyelashes and chewing so goddamn slowly that Stiles doesn't know where to look. It's weird to watch a girl eat and her cleavage is _right there_ too and Scott and Isaac just look amused and content to be eating pizza and seeing him suffer (some friends). He's pretty sure one of them would intervene before Erica kicked his ass though. Stiles sure hopes they would but it doesn't bear thinking about. He doesn't exactly want to get his ass kicked at all, especially seeing how he's _still_ a little sore from Derek.

His eyes dart from her mouth to her forehead to her boobs occasionally (hey, it's been a while since he's ogled tits, and he's still a guy). Stiles is distantly aware of some sort of conversation taking place between Peter and Derek. It's probably Peter goading Derek about something because that's what Peter does. That's _who_ he is. He lives to rile up Derek (not that Stiles can fault him in that because Stiles also likes doing that on occasion as well). Stiles only glances over to Derek and Peter once (okay, maybe twice) and it's obvious that Peter is winning (no shocker) because Derek looks tense and displeased but amped up from his normal level of everyday displeasure.

Thankfully Peter shows mercy or something because the guy gets up and grabs some pizza too before sitting down. Not entirely surprising, it's Derek who speaks up and chides Erica. And the not-so-subtle jab isn't missed about the mouth full thing. Erica mock pouts as Stiles stops and now looks between Alpha Daddy who's crossing his arms and her. He decides to put on a brave front and cease the feeding and he places her napkin with the slice of pizza in front of Erica on the table.

While Derek launches into wolf-y business, Stiles busies himself with fetching some pizza for himself. "As my mouth is currently unoccupied, I volunteer as tribute," Stiles pipes up before he takes a bite and sits back down. He thinks it's important to pull his weight.

"This isn't the Hunger Games, dude. And if it was, you'd get owned," Scott laughs, but not unkindly.

Stiles flips Scott the bird because his mouth is currently occupied. Erica gives a shrug as she picks up her pizza and then cozies back up to him for some reason.

"I could patrol with the young eager Stiles, then," Peter offers casually.

This has Stiles sitting up and throwing a 'wtf' look at good ole Uncle Hale.

* * *

Derek freezes the second that Stiles volunteers. It's not like this is new; Stiles often offers to throw himself into the veritable meat grinder, but given the fact that the Omega had first tried to rip into _Stiles_ , Derek knows this isn't a good idea. His expression darkens because he had said _all_ of them would do patrols, but he hadn't intended it to include anyone without glowing eyes.

He draws in a breath to protest, to dismiss Stiles' offer but Scott cuts in, joking, and Derek feebly hopes that perhaps that's enough. Then _Peter_ cuts in and Derek snaps his gaze to him so fast that he cricks his neck. Derek's eyes are wide and suspicious (and he's slightly mollified to see Stiles looking equally shocked) but Peter, ever the pain in Derek's ass, just looks over at Stiles with a deceptively pleasant smile, then glances over to Derek. There's no masking the flicker of something behind his eyes and Derek feels his hackles rising without his say-so. His jaw clenches in displeasure and, aware that the others are looking at him, Derek shakes his head quickly.

"No. Stiles isn't going."

He doesn't need to look in order to see Stiles' outrage, but he's slightly surprised to see the way both Scott and Isaac look like _they_ want to argue. Derek's hackles only lift more.

"Really, Derek, that's hardly necessary. I'm sure the Omega's selection was random," Peter dismisses with a wave of one hand. "Besides, if it's his safety you're worried about, I'll be more than happy to look out for him. I _am_ capable."

"That's debatable," Derek growls, and watches as Peter puts a mock-offended hand to his chest. "You never volunteer. Why now?"

Peter sends him a blank look, like it should be obvious. He looks around at the assorted wolves, then gestures to Stiles with both eyebrows lifted. "Someone needs to go with him. Clearly Erica can't. Scott is already scheduled with Isaac. It makes sense."

Derek's jaw clenches. He stares his uncle down in silence, watching and waiting. Sure enough, before long, he sees a small tug at the corner of Peter's lips and that's all Derek needs to see.

" _I'll_ go with him. I want you with Erica. You're the only one she can't get to."

"Au contraire," Peter begins, but Derek silences him with a low growl.

He looks at Stiles, his expression pinched. "Tomorrow night."

* * *

Stiles likes helping. Just because he's a human, it doesn't mean that he can't try and be useful. He's a smart cookie! He's stayed alive this long too. And most of the time patrols are boring and the lot of them just take stupid pics and send them to Derek with bad captions like _'patrolling & found this stump, thought you should know' _or ' _this bug has sinister intent, I'm sure of it.'_

Stiles isn't expecting Peter to freakin' pipe up and offer to come _with_ him. Stiles knows Peter doesn't like helping if he can help it. Unless he's in mortal danger, that is, then Peter _is_ actually helpful. Stiles assumes that Peter is playing around, or at least trying to get to Derek. Peter probably thinks of him like a toddler to torment whilst babysitting him.

Peter smiles at him and Stiles shakes his head, his cheeks puffed out, his mouth full of pizza.

Then Derek and Peter have it out and each time one of them speaks Stiles looks between them. Erica is near-snickering and Scott apparently has nothing else to add on (not a shocker). Isaac isn't one to rock the boat and clash with Derek so no one says anything at the Hales bickering. Then Alpha Daddy growls and makes the final decision and Stiles sags in relief that Derek will be going with him.

Stiles swallows and gives Derek a thumbs up. That means Derek plus the Camaro. Alone. Stiles likes.

"Won't be able to spam him with pics," Erica comments.

"I'll just send them to Scott then," Stiles grins. Patrolling without the random updates would just be no fun...

"I don't want your shitty nature pictures."

"Too bad, gotta report in."

* * *

There's a moment after everything is decided that Derek wonders if he'd just been played. He sits stiffly back in his chair as the Betas banter back and forth, teasing Stiles and each other. Peter, unsurprisingly, does not join in, but Derek catches a look his uncle sends him and it goes right through him, down to his core. It chills him, because there's a glint of satisfaction in Peter's eyes, and that is _never_ a good sign. Derek can never tell if Peter's satisfaction is just general amusement or if it speaks of his death. Given the way their family reunions have gone as of late, he thinks it's a fair idea to be cautious.

So Derek watches the Betas, watches his uncle, and tries to put his concerns into the back of his mind. He sits straighter, looks out at his Betas, and then gets on with the meeting.

Despite the rough start, it actually winds up going better than Derek had expected. He ignores the buzzing of his phone after he gets a few pictures of various candids and one of Jackson throwing him the ridiculous 'V' with his fingers, his eyes glinting in the photo. Derek deletes it out of principle, though the Betas seem to think it's hilarious. Erica in particular.

Boyd is the one to report in calmly, and Derek eventually gives him the go-ahead to come back to the loft. He does this by handing his phone to Peter to text them, though with a dangerous glance that tells Peter to type what he's said _verbatim_. Peter thankfully doesn't argue.

Boyd and Jackson come in later, when most of the pack is full and the conversation has drifted into casual lounging. Jackson's eyes brighten and he makes a beeline for the pizza but Boyd gestures for Derek to step into the kitchen to go over the report of what he'd seen. Derek doesn't _want_ to, but seeing as all the Betas look more settled, he eventually gives in and nods, following Boyd away.

Which leaves the Betas behind, mingling amongst themselves. Jackson wrinkles his nose when he sees Isaac's pizza (and there's a brief glinting of eyes as Isaac vehemently defends his choice) but everyone settles in well. It's only then that Peter stands, hardly drawing any attention. He skirts around the others as Jackson and Isaac and Scott seem to get into a more heated discussion over pizza toppings while Erica watches on in interest. Stiles, having managed to extract himself from Erica's cuddling, looks to be working at cleaning up the leftover napkins and Peter walks over to him, leaning his hip against the wall as he watches Stiles work.

There's a glint of amused interest in Peter's eyes as he watches Stiles candidly. Then, without warning, he speaks up, not bothering to announce that he'd slipped in so close.

"Such a shame, really. That Derek doesn't seem as confident about your abilities as he should. If ever you find yourself without a second for your patrols, do tell me. You're far more observant than most of the others, human or not."

* * *

For a brief moment, Stiles has the thought that he should maybe _thank_ Peter. His interjection had gotten him a patrolling date with Derek after all. In another life, Peter could have totally been a bro helping a bro out... save for the fact that he's pretty sure Peter doesn't know about Derek and him. At least Stiles hopes he doesn't know. Peter knowing things just seems dangerous.

Frankly, Stiles doesn't have a problem if other people know they're boinking but Derek does. Stiles figures that yeah, maybe he's not a catch, but is he really worth being someone's _dirty little secret_? At first, it had seemed to make sense. Stiles hadn't known if it was only going to be a one-time thing. But it's been _months_ now. And yes, Stiles understands that Derek and his dad haven't been on the best of terms, but that's practically ancient history. Would it really undermine Derek's authority that much if the others in Derek's pack knew? Stiles has thought about asking, about inquiring into why it's so imperative that they keep this a secret, but he doesn't know if he wants to hear the answer.

The meeting goes on and Stiles lets Peter and those concerns fade into the background. It's nice to just be joking around with Scott and Isaac and even Erica lightens up a little and doesn't get freaky dominatrix on him again. Jackson and Boyd return and Boyd steals Derek away so Alpha Daddy goes to the kitchen to hear the report or whatever. Stiles decides to be useful and clean up the napkins and try and consolidate the leftover pizza slices into one or two boxes only.

When Peter's voice breaks his concentration, Stiles jumps, his hands squeezing at the clumped up napkins. "Ahhhh, creeper," Stiles mutters as he looks up in Peter's direction. Peter simply blabs on and Stiles's jaw twinges as he clenches when Peter goes to throw Derek under the bus, offer his _services_ again and then sorta compliments him? It's weird.

"Look, I honestly don't know what's up with you. We don't like each other," Stiles points between the two of them, trying for his best serious no-nonsense tone. "I'm guessing you're bored and when you're bored screwing with Derek is a pretty fun pastime, but leave me out of it, okay?"

* * *

Peter doesn't laugh when Stiles jumps, but it is a near thing. He watches, his eyes bright with amused interest as Stiles stiffens and clutches the napkins to what would have been a pulp had he been a werewolf. It's a shame that Derek hasn't done it yet. Far more than most, Stiles would make a good wolf.

Peter watches him slowly go boneless in relief as adrenaline fades and he ignores the small spark of irritation in his chest that Stiles had once turned him down. It doesn't matter, not right now. Not when he's proving to be so interesting precisely as he is. Putting himself at a knowing disadvantage, surrounding himself by werewolves with better senses... it's either mad or brilliant. Peter would know.

"Now, now," Peter chides, though given how pleased he looks, he hasn't taken offense to the _creeper_ comment. He's heard much worse, often from Derek and Scott, occasionally from Erica. Boyd and Isaac don't seem to care, and Jackson tries to pretend that he can't remember that Peter had helped to kill him. It's intriguing if nothing else.

But not as intriguing as Stiles' response. Bravery or stupidity. He honestly can't tell with this one. He's never been able to. It's fascinating.

"Do you think so little of me?" Peter asks, _sounding_ wounded, but his posture is still easy. Stiles is right enough. Not completely, but enough that he's precisely where Peter wants him to be in terms of confidence. "Yes, there is a special amusement that comes with teasing my nephew. One I've found you quite adept at joining me in, apparently whether you've meant to or not. But that's hardly 'what's up' with me."

Peter tilts his head, looking Stiles over once, thoughtfully.

"You should honestly think about _thanking_ me," Peter goes on obscurely. Though when he slides his gaze over to rest on the doorway Derek had disappeared through, his hint is likely blatant enough whether or not Stiles wants to think about it.

* * *

Why can't a guy just clean up after werewolves in peace? Why does Peter have to creep up and bother him? Stiles can hear the others animatedly talking to each other, so there's no hope of any of them are going to come to his aid. Every one of them is wary of Peter Hale and for good reason too. The guy is smarmy and only looks out for himself. He may be Derek's uncle but he's a little unhinged (and yeah Stiles knows there are good reasons, but he's still dangerous).

Peter, of course, doesn't look ruffled by his comments. Stiles hadn't expected him to be. Peter rarely looks ruffled. But when Peter actually responds, Stiles has a strange realization that it's kinda nice to be able to have someone to talk to Derek about. He knows they both have a penchant for teasing Derek, after all, and Stiles does think that Peter must still love Derek if he's hanging around. But this isn't a topic he wants to think about, so Stiles leaves it.

When blue eyes look over him, Stiles blinks and tries to muster his best 'I am not intimidated' face. He hopes he manages it, but it's hard to tell with Peter. Too bad for Stiles that Peter's _next_ comment is about thanking him as he throws a sidelong look at where Derek had left.

"I'm not thinking about that," Stiles retorts hastily. He grabs at another napkin. "And anyway, why do you think that I should think about thanking you, huh?" Stiles looks up, his eyebrows raised as if in a challenge. Stiles finds himself curious. He's gotta do a little recon here and figure out if Uncle Hale knows or suspects them...

* * *

Stiles is ever so spastic, even now. Peter watches him, almost able to see the subtle vibrations of energy buzzing through him whenever someone so much as comes close to plucking on one of his strings. It's an interesting dance to see which string prompts which response, but Peter's been doing it for long enough to know how to generally handle Stiles. He may be wary and suspicious, but he's also excitable and curious.

Derek _has_ information, but he rarely shares it. Simply by being more forthcoming, Peter has managed to situate himself in Stiles' personal space once more. When he'd first come back, Stiles had hardly been able to be within ten feet of him, and the unease and guilt rolling off of him had been almost offensive to Peter's senses.

But that's not an issue now. He simply watches, amused, as Stiles hastens to respond. In truth, he does suspect, though that's hardly surprising. It _would_ be surprising if it turned out his suspicions were correct, though. Derek so rarely trusts himself enough to work through his unease and suspicion. Quite a pair his nephew and he make.

"Do you think Derek would have volunteered if I hadn't offered?" Peter asks, sounding amused. He doesn't let any hints drop, enjoying how nervous Stiles must be but also how resolutely he stands. He's quite the Beta, for a human. "Would you have _preferred_ to go with Erica? Or myself? I _could_ go and talk to Derek and insist on taking his place if you'd rather Derek not be your second."

* * *

They've been careful, haven't they? Derek is the epitome of vigilant with the whole sneaking around and cologne and changing clothes thing. Stiles is pretty sure they've been careful. He hasn't been around Peter that much either, the occasional pack meeting, sure, but they rarely interact on an one-to-one basis.

Until now. But there's no way he smells like Derek. Stiles is pretty sure none of them can detect his bruises either. He's made sure to not wince upon moving or sitting. Derek hasn't been treating him any differently either.

But Peter is Peter. If anyone could pick up on something crazy small, it would be Peter Hale. And Stiles _knows_ it's probably not a good idea to even entertain trying to talk to Peter, to play in the older Beta's court, but dammit, Stiles is a curious fucker. Always has been, always will be. Peter knows a lot of things. Peter knows about Derek, too. There's a million questions that Stiles has. It's easy to ask Derek the werewolf-related questions, but Derek-centric questions? Yeahhhhh, those don't turn out that well.

Stiles licks his lips and puts his pile of gathered napkins on the table. He quirks his mouth to the side as Peter responds. Stiles shifts on his sneakers and his fingers tap against the side of his legs. What's bursting to come out is a: ' _No, no thanks man. Derek is good. I want Derek, not Erica or you kthx bye'_ but he holds his tongue. He can have some tact, yeah? Yeah.

"So, you think you're doing me a favor then?" Stiles says, appraising Peter. "You think I _want_ Derek to come along with me?"

* * *

It's endlessly enjoyable, this. Derek fights with words in an aggressive manner, but with Stiles, there's thought put into it. He doesn't fight; he parries, just as Peter does. It's like an enjoyable dance, like little more than a game. Peter monitors Stiles' pulse in the back of his mind, focusing more on the boy's posture and cool facade. Derek likely has no idea _how_ skilled Stiles is, just like this. A rational mind among fools. Present company excluded of course.

"Don't you?" Peter replies, one eyebrow lifting, like the alternative is preposterous to even entertain. "Scott and Isaac work the best together. Boyd and Erica typically do the same. I can handle Jackson, and you're no hardship. But you prefer to patrol with Derek. Or Scott," Peter adds with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Though Derek prefers to separate you two because you rarely get any _patrolling_ done. Derek usually winds up handing his phone to me. Truly inspiring work."

There's a flicker of amusement in Peter's eyes as he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He doubts he could look more casual if he tried.

"But yes. I believe I'm doing you a favor. You forget how keen our senses of smell are."

* * *

Oh, Stiles knows better. He _does_. If Derek finds out he isn't going to be pleased and Derek could come back at any time. Playing with Peter is like playing with bees. It's all fun and thrilling up until the moment when it's not and you get stung like a million times. Fucking bees.

At first Peter doesn't give much away. He's right about Scott and Isaac. He's right about Erica and Boyd and Jackson. And he's _also_ right that Scott and him totally overdo the report updates and spam Derek's phone with preposterous pics and scenarios. The fact that Derek apparently hands over his phone to _Peter_ isn't exactly surprising but Stiles hadn't known.

Peter leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. It's clear that, at least to Peter, he believes he's winning. When the comment about smell comes, this has Stiles' eyebrows drawing in. He wants to step over to Peter, to lower his voice, but getting closer to Peter would likely catch the eye of one of the others. No one _willingly_ goes closer to Peter.

So Stiles doesn't. He relaxes his face into something more neutral and turns his attention to the pizza boxes. He begins consolidating the leftovers into one box before he answers.

"And what is it that you think you smell, hm?"

* * *

Peter feels something akin to a laugh bubbling up within his chest, as this is easily the most entertained he'd been since a few nights ago, when Derek had come in reeking of alcohol and a mix of multiple colognes and perfumes. Peter had inquired and Derek had looked startled to have seen him awake. Only then had Derek's expression jumped to something ridiculously defensive and he'd snapped out an answer that still doesn't satisfy Peter.

The thing is... Peter has no evidence. And if this is merely a tree he's barking up that has no hope of delivering what he wants, so be it, but admittedly it is quite fun to see Stiles squirm almost as much as Derek had. That alone gives Peter the hints he feels he needs.

And Stiles' posture is just as defensive as Derek's had been even if his expression is impressively neutral. Stiles must assume himself casual and Peter watches, amused, as he tries his best. For a man of his age, it's not bad. Peter's merely been doing it for far longer.

Peter glances to the others, to Scott and Isaac, who appear to be half-bickering with Jackson, and to Erica, who looks equally amused, though at the boys' antics. No one seems to be paying them any attention. Which is why Peter has absolutely no qualms about his answer.

"Arousal." It's blatant. He smiles. "And Derek." It's a lie, but what better way to seek out the truth than to dig down into it using a lie? "Far be it for me to judge. You're more than welcome to whomever gets your engine running. Though a _thank you_ would be polite."

* * *

Stiles tries to focus on the pizza slices he's relocating to the chosen box in front of him. If he can focus on moving piece by piece and _not_ getting agitated by Peter, that'd be swell, really swell. Because it's very likely that Peter _doesn't_ actually know anything and he's yanking his chain and stirring the pot or whatever. Peter is a master of doing these things and he's been known to start shit just because he'd been bored. This could be one of those times. Stiles doesn't want to be an amusing toy to him, however.

But there is a slim chance Peter _might_ know something so doesn't Stiles owe it to Derek and himself to do some recon?

Peter answers and the thing is, Stiles can't tell if the werewolf is lying or not. The answer is actually vague. Arousal on who and where? Derek, what about Derek? Stiles knows he likely looks perplexed and concerned and yeah, it's not good but he has never claimed to have a great poker face.

"I'm young," Stiles says loftily. "Anything practically gets my engine running if you know what I mean and I'm surrounded by good looking people." Stiles gives a dismissive shrug. "So sure, thanks, I'd rather look at Derek than you. Eye Candy-wise, he's above you."

* * *

Which is, coincidentally, the first thing that Derek hears when he walks back out with Boyd. Boyd doesn't appear to hear (or if he does, he's smart enough to pretend that he hadn't) but Derek does, and the sound of it draws him up short. He shoots a look over at Stiles and _Peter_ and immediately his shoulders go rigid.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek snaps, because getting Stiles to jump to attention is far easier than getting Peter to back down. "Don't talk to Peter; you know better. Come here. I'm not taking you on patrol if we don't plan it out first."

It's a thin excuse, and one that definitely draws the attention of the rest of the pack, but it has the desired result. Yet even as Stiles scrambles to heed the command, Derek looks over at his uncle and glowers at him.

Peter, to his credit, just looks mildly pleased, but Derek doesn't trust the look in his eyes for a second. There's a growl caught deep in his throat as he grabs Stiles by the back of the shirt and shoves him off into the opposite corner to set up a time to meet, like this isn't something they've done before. Like Derek's actually _angry_ at having to spend time with him.

* * *

Thank God Derek comes out and more or less saves him from Peter. Of course, saving him is Derek snapping at him and the Peter-Stiles moment is over as everyone now looks up and takes stock of the current situation.

Even though Stiles is more than able to follow Derek, Derek sees fit to all but drag him out of the communal area. Stiles does consider mentioning what Peter and he had discussed, but Stiles can tell that Derek is on edge and Stiles would rather not deliver possible bad news. If he could, he'd text Derek but most of their texts are purposefully vague in case someone happens to get at Derek's phone (which is handed over to Peter often enough).

Life is hard as the mistress…

* * *

The next evening, Derek readies himself, pulling on his leather jacket and ignoring Peter's idle glances as the hours crawl on. He'd told Stiles to meet him at eight, where he normally parks, and Derek isn't about to be late. The only issue is that this isn't the normal reason he drives to Stiles' house and so he makes a point to _ensure_ everything looks normal before he goes.

Derek grumbles and complains under his breath. He's dismissive when Peter asks him anything. And when he gets into the Camaro and grabs his phone to send Stiles a text that just says 'five minutes', he keeps his expression blank.

Derek makes good time. He's there with time to spare, not that there had been much, but he makes a point to roll to a stop two blocks away, as always. And, as he looks out at the street ahead of him and ducks his head, he reaches over to unlock the passenger's side door to the Camaro. There's a low thrumming of nerves in his chest, as they haven't had time to talk about what had happened a few days ago.

Derek doesn't _want_ to talk about it. But he knows that the next few hours are going to be rough. With Stiles, nothing is ever easy.

* * *

"It's not a date," Stiles tells himself in the mirror.

He may tell himself this, but he still is stupidly excited to be seeing Derek alone and in the sex car that Derek _just happened_ to reference last time as a place where he'd get Stiles to _scream_. Stiles literally spends half the day considering stretching himself beforehand - you know, just in case - but he thinks he might be mortified if Derek smelled lube on him and then had no interest in doing anything about that. And then he'd be all wet and lube-y. Yeah, no thanks.

He then thinks about bringing lube... Okay. That's a compromise.

Stiles dresses a tad nicer. Just a tad. Still jeans, still sneakers, but a grey t-shirt that's _slightly_ tighter and a grey and black striped hoodie over it. If Derek says anything, Stiles plans on telling him that he was going for a more incognito look. He tries to fashion his hair into the usual style and his dad just gives him a look when he's passing and Stiles gives him a thumbs up and a grin.

"Don't even want to ask," his dad mutters.

When he gets a text that indicates Derek is five minutes away, Stiles bolts out. He walks quickly, his arms swinging by his sides. He's not exactly surprised to find that he's a little aroused. Stiles hadn't been lying when he said he was easy to Peter and it's been _days_.

He's also a little nervous about what happened last time. It hasn't been discussed. Stiles doesn't know if he wants to discuss it now either. He sees the Camaro parked and Stiles purposefully tries to slow down so as to not appear too eager. When he gets to the car, Stiles is happy to find that the door is already unlocked. This is a good sign. He gets in and smiles brightly at Derek.

"Hey, big guy, here I am. Ready to patrol and defend," Stiles announces.

* * *

The first thing Derek notices is that Stiles' clothing is slightly nicer than it normally is. That's not saying much considering Stiles' wardrobe mostly consists of logo-ridden shirts and nerd references that Derek doesn't understand. But instead of his _stud muffin_ shirt, Stiles' attire is more muted and yet somehow draws Derek's gaze a little more.

He can see in the dark and so he watches for quite some time as Stiles walks hurriedly before making himself slow down. Derek could guess but he doesn't let himself. He just braces himself for the next few hours and when Stiles finally reaches the car, Derek sits back in his seat, one elbow resting on the door beside him, his other hand on the top of the steering wheel.

He looks angry, or impatient, but seeing as Derek usually looks like he's both, that's not a big deal. He glances sidelong at Stiles as he opens the door to the Camaro and climbs in with a verbal flourish, but Derek's attention is almost immediately caught by something far more interesting: the scent that Stiles brings with him.

Derek remembers his low, growled promise in a flash, remembers what he'd said to Stiles while he'd been fucking him. He looks around at the interior of the Camaro and his mind treats him to a few quick images before he shoves them away with a series of quick blinks. He manages to avoid shaking his head obviously at least and instead he turns his attention on the present moment. It's difficult considering he can scent Stiles' arousal, but he's eighteen. Arousal isn't exactly surprising.

"If _anyone_ is going to patrol, it will be me," Derek says flatly, waiting for Stiles to get in the car before he locks the door and turns the Camaro back on. "I don't trust you not to fall flat on your face in the Preserve. But watching the forest for activity? Fine."

Derek turns the wheel sharply and the engine rumbles lowly - mindful that the sheriff is likely at Stiles' house. He pulls back out onto the road and heads towards the distant line of the forest.

"At least you dressed sensibly," Derek adds, because he can still remember Stiles trying to 'jazz it up', as he'd said, when they'd first started doing the occasional patrol together.

* * *

Peter had been right. Stiles would rather patrol with Scott because Scott is super familiar. Scott is his best friend and it's like hanging out (because nothing has ever happened when Stiles is out on patrol). It's fun and chill and they really do take the best pics. But it's not like Stiles doesn't _want_ to be with Derek either.

He does. Badly. He just doesn't know what he should do or how he should be and Derek is giving nothing away (not that Stiles was going to wait for Derek to have the first word, nope).

The Camaro is familiar, but now it's been tinged with a sexual prospect so yeah, there's that. And it's been days, okay, _days_ since what had been undoubtedly their most intense late night rendezvous. Has Stiles jerked off thinking about Derek's hand wrapped around his mouth as Derek slammed into him? Hell yes. Has he spanked the monkey while fantasizing about Derek's claws grazing over his skin? Yes, okay, he has a problem. The first step is apparently admitting you have a problem.

Derek is all no-nonsense in his reply which isn't much of a surprise. _'No, little girl, it's dangerous for you to into the woods, a big bad wolf could get you.'_ Bah _._ At least Scott lets him tromp along.

When the comment comes about his attire, Stiles grins and glances over at Derek. And oh, Stiles _wants_ to make a comment about how good he looks without the clothing on. His mouth is open to give it, but what comes out instead is:

"I'm sorry about last time. Put you in an awkward position. I'll try to not fuck up again."

Stiles apology may be rushed, but he still means it.

* * *

Derek still doesn't know what to expect this time around, and lack of information makes him uneasy. It's safe to go no-nonsense, which is almost always impossible when it comes to Stiles, but Derek can at least hope. So he tries. He tries to keep it strictly business as Stiles sets about putting his seatbelt on and Derek drives towards the Beacon Hills Preserve, but he doesn't think they'll make it there without incident. Stiles is still Stiles, and Stiles can't stay quiet to save his life.

So when Derek makes the comment about Stiles' attire and sees the sly little smile break out on Stiles' lips, he braces himself for something truly horrendous...

But it doesn't come. Instead Derek is caught off guard by Stiles mentioning the other night. At once he goes quiet, his teeth clicking as he closes his mouth and his knuckles whitening slightly on the steering wheel. In the few times they've gone out together on patrol, certain topics have been off limits. This is one of them, and this is _definitely_ one that Derek hadn't intended to talk about at all. Ergo it comes as no real surprise that Stiles had soldiered on ahead.

Derek casts a glance back at Stiles, his expression clouded with wariness, then he looks back at his own hand, his own nails, which had been against Stiles' skin only days before. He finds himself glad that Stiles can't hear his heartbeat because right now it's going just a little too quickly. Derek's jaw clenches rhythmically for a moment before he finally nods tightly. He adjusts his grip on the wheel.

"You put too much trust in me," he says flatly, and there's an odd edge to his voice that sounds accusing but _also_ sounds concerned. "I could have seriously hurt you..." Derek wets his lips. "I shouldn't have allowed it to begin with. I should have been more cautious."

It's as close to an apology as Derek wants to give.

* * *

Stiles apologizes. Is this what he should be doing here? The Hell if Stiles knows because apologizing is acknowledging that there _had_ been some sort of conflict or problem to begin with. But isn't apologizing and being mature like, being the bigger man too? Derek would probably be happy to ignore the issue for as long as possible. Denial and repression and avoidance and all that jazz. That's what Derek does best, after all (at least about problems that can't be punched).

But it's too late. Stiles has let the cat out of the bag and he doesn't think Derek is going to flat-out ignore him about it either. Which is good and bad because Stiles doesn't necessarily _want_ to be scolded about what he likes and wants. They've only patrolled a few times together since getting physical and Stiles had actually behaved. He hadn't tried to grope Derek or talk about sexy or touchy-feely things. Stiles had honestly been too nervous to even dare to do such a thing. Instead, he'd nattered about anything and everything.

It takes Derek a few long seconds before he answers. Stiles tries to play it cool by not looking over at Derek. Instead, his fingers search out the string for his hood and he begins to pull it back and forth.

But when Stiles processes the shitty reply Derek gives, he scoffs.

"Stop being such a martyr, man." Now he turns to look at Derek. "I wanted it. Asked for it. Begged for it. It's not all on _you_. You come with risks, sure, I happen to think you're worth them. It's not my fault I have a claw and fang kink. I'll just leave that for my fantasizing."

Stiles tries his best to flash a smile before turning to face the front again.

* * *

Derek knows how he could tell Stiles how dangerous the little dalliance they'd had had been. If he were to just tell Stiles how close he'd come to scratching intentionally, to wanting to Bite him, it could forestall any attempts at that in the future, if the two of them even have anything pertaining to a 'future' with how one-dimensional their non-existent relationship is.

But instead of explaining or rationalizing it away, Derek just clenches his jaw and frowns. He doesn't want there to be a problem so he doesn't want to _admit_ there had been one. While telling Stiles might help him understand, it would also showcase how flimsy Derek's control had been and he doesn't want to do that. Weakness is still weakness.

So instead he drives. He lets Stiles explain, lets him scoff and dismiss the kinks as _Stiles'_ fault, and Derek doesn't feel good about letting Stiles believe it had been his fault. Derek's no coward but this is one thing he doesn't know how to navigate. He's still learning the ins and outs of the Alpha thing as best as he can. So Derek grunts dismissively in the back of his throat and then turns back towards the road ahead, trying not to focus on Stiles telling him he was _worth_ the risks Derek had spoken of. Christ, this _is_ going to be dangerous...

"Fine. Apology accepted," Derek grumbles, and he falls silent, leaving Stiles to play with the ties on his hoodie.

It hardly takes him any time at all to arrive at the edge of the Preserve, in a small outcropping that shields his car from view. Derek rolls the window down a crack and takes in a slow, deep breath, assessing the air and monitoring it for anything out of the ordinary. To his satisfaction, he can't smell anything.

Turning the Camaro off, Derek reclines back in his seat and lets his hand fall away from the wheel. "We'll do three hours. If you're not dead on your feet by then, we can try for more. If so, I'll take you home and patrol on my own."

* * *

It's really too easy to try and shoulder the blame for their little mishap. It's easier for Stiles to take responsibility and label it as something that _he needs_ to deal with, something that's his fault. Having expectations for Derek? Wanting things, having those things be _known_? Now that seems terrifying to Stiles. Everyone knows he's the spastic kid, the chatterbox, so his mouth ran away with him. Heat of the moment type of thing.

So he'll smile and pretend he's fine and just hope he hasn't messed up their sex regiment (because he's rather fond of regularly getting some). God, he hopes he hasn't messed it up.

Stiles may not have technically apologized - he hadn't said the word 'sorry' - but an apology was his aim. Derek takes it as one, giving a primitive grunt before ever so gracefully accepting his apology. What a guy. Stiles wants to be okay. He does. He wants things to be okay between them but it's always felt so much easier to speak freely in the midst of a passionate embrace ('cuz you pretty much are _owed_ the right to say anything if you got that person's dick up your ass).

Stiles would have brought snacks but Derek hadn't been a fan of that last time, so, having nothing to shove in his mouth, Stiles decides to chew on the string. He noms on it slowly and when Derek parks, Stiles immediately undoes his seatbelt, wanting the freedom.

Three hours. Potentially cooped up because Derek doesn't want him in the forest... But what about the outskirts? Well, he's not bored enough to push it, so for now he reaches for the side adjuster on the seat and lets his seat fall back a little.

"Mmm hm," Stiles affirms. He knows he shouldn't stare, but it's Derek and Stiles is excited that they're alone. He lasts about three minutes glancing around before he turns to look at Derek and blurts out, "I almost brought lube with. I actually thought about fingering myself before leaving but then I thought that was totally presumptuous and might be awkward."

* * *

Business as usual is all Derek can really do at present because Stiles is... being Stiles. He doesn't even notice at first, but once they're parked, Derek quickly becomes aware of the little sounds of Stiles chewing on something. He glances over, and looking over is pretty much a mistake because it means he gets to watch Stiles do odd things to the drawstring of his hoodie with his mouth. It shouldn't be appealing in any way, but it somehow is.

Derek's expression pinches slightly at the sight and he forcibly turns away, staring out ahead at the forest before them, though those tiny sounds remain a distraction in the back of his mind.

Stiles has already moved his seat back and started to stare at Derek (the fucker) by the time he risks saying anything again. Derek's been doing his best to staunchly ignore him, focusing on the forest ahead instead. So when Stiles speaks up, Derek is wholly unprepared for what he _says_.

The words just slam into him like a fist and Derek feels winded like it _had_ been a fist to begin with. He stills, his eyes wide, and then he looks over at Stiles sharply in the dark, studying him and drawing in a deep breath of his scent as subtly as he can.

Stiles doesn't smell like lubricant, though Derek suddenly almost wishes he did. Which is... bad. At Stiles' house is one thing, where Derek can blend in and leave, but having these kinds of discussions with Stiles in his car is something there's no immediate escape from. Does Derek want there to be one? He doubts it. He does enjoy Stiles' company even if he shouldn't, and the knowledge that Stiles had even considered fingering himself open has Derek's dick taking an immediately-active interest in his jeans. Derek just stares at Stiles for a long moment, fighting against his immediate reaction. Then, when he feels a little more in control, he draws a slow breath and then gives Stiles a slow once-over.

"Yeah, you think? I might have taken you on patrol in the forest just to make you feel it."

No matter who you are, Derek's convinced that no one likes the slick feeling of walking while lubed up. It just... doesn't help that the thought of Stiles walking while freshly-stretched makes _thoughts_ strike him. Thoughts about burying himself in the guy in the middle of the Preserve, pinning him to a tree, and... yeah. Not helping. Derek swallows and turns away.

"Stop staring at me; you're supposed to be watching the Preserve," he grumbles, but given his _obvious_ interest in the conversation, his argument is thin at best.

* * *

Stiles had wanted to avoid a possible awkward situation, but in his burst of honesty, he's perhaps sabotaged himself and done just that. But Derek had been ignoring him and Stiles wanted to say _something_ \- to talk - so his little admission had flown out of his mouth.

And Derek for whatever reason seems shocked by it. Stiles wonders if it's just surprise at his honesty, timing, or the actual admission. Has he scandalized Derek Hale? Is admitting how desperate he can get a giant turn off? Stiles doesn't know. He can't read minds and he can't smell things like arousal or hear heartbeats. He thinks - at least when they're getting down and dirty - that Derek likes it, but what about every other time?

Derek looks him over (and Stiles has the horrible realization that Derek has probably scented him to figure out about the lack of lube). Stiles' cheeks heat a little, but he refuses to turn away or hide his face.

But Derek's caustic tone presenting him with a hypothetical situation... Shit, Stiles _likes_ the idea of Derek knowing and doing that, Derek watching him walk... Now his arousal is ramping up. It probably hadn't been Derek's intention, but Stiles is going to blame him for it anyway. The parting comment about his staring coupled with Derek looking away has Stiles frowning.

"Pfft, I'm young, I have needs," Stiles begins, exasperated and slumping in his seat. "I was an 18-year-old virgin until you, okay? I can't help that I like doing it with a certain someone."

He goes back to chewing on one of the drawstrings while his fingers tap out a pattern on his thigh.

* * *

Turning Stiles on _hadn't_ actually been Derek's intent, but it's like the guy has suddenly just spritzed the air with cologne when Derek mentions 'making him feel it'. It's suddenly thicker and cloying, playing along Derek's palate like he'd imagine a wine would to any connoisseur (of which he definitely is not).

The scent makes him feel a little dizzy with it, as Stiles' sudden bouts of arousal so often do, and Derek finds himself ridiculously grateful that the other Betas are used to the scent on Stiles by now. He doubts any of them know that it's for _him_. But that makes this moment a little more distracting, and Derek's focus shifts, torn between Stiles and the scent on the air. Derek wets his lips, distracted.

But even when Stiles lets the subject drop, he doesn't... _stop_. Derek knows. He can see Stiles slumped and by all rights, that should be it. But then Derek hears the chewing sound of the damn hoodie string once more and the wet, sucking sounds of it threaten to drive him nuts.

He takes it for a few long seconds, coupled with the pattern of Stiles' little taps, before he finally whirls on Stiles. Derek reaches out with a hand and he's fully intending to grab the guy by the back of the neck and shove him against the side of the window to get him to shut up. He's already got his hand on Stiles' nape, and Derek's got some would-be-power behind his touch, his expression pinched... when what Stiles had said suddenly registers and the strength rushes out of Derek immediately.

His touch gentles until it's almost impossible to be _called_ a touch, and when he leans back to look at Stiles, his brow is so furrowed that it might as well be a single line. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted in shock.

"Wait, wait, _what?_ You hadn't had sex before?"

Oh, God... Derek feels something very complicated twist inside of him, both horror and satisfaction. "Why would you _ever_ have let me-- why didn't you _tell me?_ "

* * *

Derek's hand comes to the back of his neck and Stiles has deja vu all over again. Derek is going to slam his head into something.

The window. The dashboard. It's going to happen. It's happened before and apparently, it's time to revisit such an occurrence.

And Stiles _knows_ that he's kind of being annoying, that he's maybe even sulking and he probably deserves some sort of swat to the head, but really? It hasn't even been five freakin' minutes before Derek has resorted to violence. But Derek's touch - for some reason - gentles. Stiles' head whips around to stare at Derek because he'd like to figure out what the fuck is going on. Is he getting his head smashed into something or what?

But a super shocked Derek meets him. It'd be almost comical if violence wasn't possibly just around the corner.

Then Derek speaks and _ohhhhhh._ Stiles hadn't even realized what he'd admitted. His virginity hadn't been like a well-kept secret or anything. It's a fact he'd lived with his whole life. Those he was close to knew, but Derek? Why would he have shared that with Derek?

"Whoa, whoa, you didn't tell me _your_ sexual history," Stiles says and points his finger at Derek, even wagging it at him. "You never asked and it's not like I was trying to keep it hidden. Now you know. Derek the deflowerer. Someone had to do it, might as well have been you."

Truthfully, Stiles had been freakin' ecstatic and nervous at the time, but extreme horniness and _Derek_ had stamped that down a little.

* * *

Stiles had been a virgin. Derek thinks back immediately, a mix of satisfaction and guilt both clawing at his insides as he does. He remembers every fucking second of the first time he'd pushed past the growing tension between them and had _done_ something about it, but he hadn't treated it like a special occasion.

It had been, for him. Apparently it had been for Stiles too, only in a different way. Derek sits there, staring openly at Stiles, shock still etched into his features, because he hadn't been gentle. He hadn't taken his time. Stiles had been wildly enthusiastic, and maybe Derek had noticed how tight he'd been, but he'd only just turned eighteen at the time. He hadn't thought anything of it.

He's thinking a _lot_ of it now, though. Derek blinks, and he thinks of so many things to say in a rush. Apologies come to his lips but die behind his clenched teeth, and the furrow on his brow lightens when he realizes there's no taking it back.

And then it bunches again, only in incredulity, when Stiles just up and _points_ at him and then goes on to call him...to call him 'Derek the Deflowerer'. Derek is moderately certain he could not look more incredulous if he'd tried. He just stares openly at Stiles, as if unable to believe he'd said that.

"I was wrong," Derek decides after a long, drawn-out moment. " _That_ is the least sexy thing you've ever said to me."

He leans back in his seat, his earlier desire to slam Stiles' head against the dashboard long forgotten in the wake of this abundance of information. Derek sits back, looking visibly stunned and incredulous all at once. All in all, it's likely the most emotional his expression has been in a long time.

"You should have told me. I fucked you like you were _used_ to it."

* * *

Stiles doesn't want this to be a big deal. He also doesn't want the claw mishap to be a big deal either. Both are in the past but both have the ability to, apparently, be points of contention. It's easier to joke. Always has been. If Stiles can lighten the mood, he will. It's not that he's incapable of being serious, it's just that... So much dark shit has gone down. They all have their own struggles and demons and Stiles doesn't want to add complication into the life of anyone he cares about. People expect him to be plucky and silly and he wants to deliver on that.

So yeah, he jokes and acts like the situation hadn't been a big deal. What's done is done. He doesn't want to bemoan about their rather frenzied first time. And his little nickname seems to throw Derek for a loop and be successful (because he doesn't like being the cause of Derek's frustration and seeing it up close is worse).

But maybe not so successful because Derek leans back in his seat and looks... Weird. Pensive? Stiles doesn't know. It's a look he hasn't seen recently. And the comment that Derek gives has Stiles' stomach twisting. Even though he had wanted to blow it off at the time, a part of Stiles _had_ thought he should tell Derek.

But another part had thought Derek would run for the hills and say _screw it_ and wash his hands of Stiles' inexperience and hardcore lusting.

"I did get used to it. Kinda had too," Stiles forces out. He picks up steam as he continues, talking more animatedly. "Maybe it was a crash course, but you know I liked it. _A lot_. Zero complaints, man."

He gives Derek a wink, winding the wet drawstring around his index finger. The last thing Stiles wants is Derek regretting anything. Because if Derek starts regretting how things started, he could get the idea into his stupid Alpha head that things _now_ are problematic and Stiles definitely doesn't want that. (If he was being honest with himself, he might go as far as saying that he's actually afraid of that happening.)

* * *

There are so many things that Derek could say but won't. He wants to tell Stiles that his first time should have _meant_ something just as much as he wants to insist that it _had_ meant something for him, but he's not quite that fucked in the head to just up and admit something like that. Stiles is a teenager and sex has probably been on his mind for the better part of six years at least by now. While it should have been with someone he loved, or at least _liked_ , Derek doesn't regret being Stiles' first, even if that is from sheer selfishness.

He does regret how it had gone down, though. How he'd taken the time to stretch Stiles, sure, but had fucked him into coming all over himself, and he hadn't been gentle about it. And he'd left almost directly after, against his own instincts. What a first time...

Stiles' pulse is what catches Derek's attention when he speaks, because contrary to Stiles' rushed ramblings, there's something under the surface that catches Derek's attention more. He looks at Stiles, frowning, watching as he winds the drawstring around his finger. Derek stares at him, scenting the air, and he's surprised to find a small tinge of what smells like fear, or at least anxiety. Stiles is anxious. Which... Derek supposes makes sense, but he's not anxious about the recollection. His pulse is steady when he talks, but it's only after he _stops_ talking that his pulse starts to hitch and race again.

Derek clues in quickly. He has the luxury of having been a wolf for a long time, and he can put two and two together sometimes.

"I'm not going to stop fucking you," Derek says, and he sounds both slightly irritated and _almost_ reassuring. "Your pulse is all over the place. Stop freaking out. I _know_ you liked it. I could feel that. That isn't the problem. The problem is that I could have hurt you because I didn't know. I _assume_ I didn't, but you put yourself at risk."

* * *

"Me putting myself at risk is par for the course," Stiles shoots back with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "In case you haven't noticed, _everyone_ is at risk here. Beacon Hills is a literal beacon for trouble. Having werewolves for friends? Risky. Getting fucked by one? Risky. But I'm still here, baby, and I'm not going anywhere~"

He knows he's kind of being a jerk. Stiles hadn't missed the almost-reassuring tone to Derek's words, that Derek isn't going to stop this. And it means something, probably means that Derek has noticed something - some apprehension - because Derek gets to be a cheater in all of their interactions. But Stiles doesn't know what to do because this has, legitimately, blindsided him. He hadn't thought Derek would ever care this much. It makes him feel awkward.

And he doesn't want to be freaking out. He's not freaking out. Derek is the one freaking out. He should be saying this. Yeah.

"You're the one freaking out," Stiles insists. "I'm fine. Totally fine. Just because I was a virgin, doesn't mean I'm like, all fragile and sensitive. I'm just some casual booty call, right? That's what you treat me as. You don't have to pretend to care. My de-virginizing experience wasn't some horror show so you can breathe easy."

* * *

This is not going the way Derek had hoped. Not that he'd had expectations going into this, but seeing the way Stiles is acting now is making it worse. Derek still feels blindsided by the admission, accidental as it had been, and he doesn't know how to handle this.

 _Feelings_ are complicated and he'd prefer not to have them, but he does. The issue is that Stiles doesn't, and Derek's not enough of an idiot to intentionally make himself look weak by comparison. So while he wants to insist on being right in this instance, he doesn't. Stiles' tone is uncaring and just shy of sarcastic and Derek feels irritation bubbling up inside of him again.

But that hits a veritable roadblock when Stiles goes on. Derek hesitates, because they don't _talk_ about this. Derek swallows his immediate protest that Stiles is honestly just a random booty call, but there's a small twist in his chest when it comes to how he treats Stiles. Derek feels something heavier settle in his chest and he goes quiet, half-glaring at Stiles because he doesn't know what else to do. For a second he honestly considers just snarling at Stiles and owning up to it, but then Stiles mentions _pretending_ to care and the scale tips from sympathetic to closed off in a heartbeat.

For a split second, Derek looks almost hurt. If that's what Stiles assumes he is, it's pretty clear that the opposite is also the case. But Derek isn't going to go cry over it. Instead his expression hardens and he turns his attention back ahead with a glower.

"Fine. Skin me for _pretending_ to care about your sorry ass," he snaps. Derek takes the keys from the ignition and shoves them into the pocket of his jeans, then all but kicks the driver's side door open as he gets out. He takes a second to strip his jacket off and toss it back into the car.

"Stay here. If you're not fragile or sensitive, you can keep watch while I do a run-around."

* * *

This is like a huge car pile up that he's only seen on the news or in movies. It's started maybe just with an insignificant accident, some car clipping another, but it keeps getting worse and worse. Now there's more vehicles slamming into each other and it's a huge traffic jam. It's all happening too fast and it's chaos. Stiles doesn't want this to happen. He doesn't actually want to piss off Derek.

Rile him up? Sure. Aggravate him? Tease him? Yes and yes. Piss him off and cause him to leave the car? No. Pass.

Well, fuck. Stiles sits in the passenger seat squinting as Derek takes off. Of course he can only see him for like 2 seconds before Derek disappears into the forest.

"Yeah, went well. I really feel like we're communicating. Good stuff," Stiles mutters to himself.

The thing is... If Derek didn't care would he get this upset? Stiles knows be can be a pain in the ass, but is it to this level? And there's also the issue that, for the briefest of moments, Stiles could have sworn Derek looked a little hurt. He _hmfs_ and slumps further in the seat.

They'd been bickering like this the time Derek had finally snapped and pushed him against a wall, kissing him before Stiles could even form a complete sentence.

Now that was a better memory to think on...

*** * ***

"Your people skills," Stiles chides, hands on his hips as if he's a disapproving parent. His expression in incongruous with his words, as he has a shit eating grin on his face. But teasing Derek is usually amusing. Derek needs to be teased because sometimes, rarely, Stiles thinks he sees a glimmer of amusement in Derek's eyes. "Or lack thereof. You need to brush up on your game. Drastically."

They were supposed to get cozy to a pair of younger hunters passing by who were tracking an Alpha but Derek's manners hadn't been the best and the hunters had split. To make matters worse, the two of them had been not-so-kindly escorted from the bar. Now they're outside the dingey establishment and Stiles is having fun.

"I think I may have had a better chance with her. Or him. I'm pretty cute. Eighteen, but still cherubic. Or impish," Stiles bats his eyelashes at Derek, taking a step closer and cocking his head to the side as his hands leave his hips. He's been getting a little more flirty with Derek. Most of the time nothing comes of it but...

But. There's a but. There have been a few times he's seen what he believes to be interest or appraisal from Derek and that alone is enough for Stiles.

"Should you track them and give me a shot? I'll even let you watch. I might like that."

* * *

Derek's pissed. It's not an uncommon state for him to be in, but given the events of the last hour, he's more pissed off than usual. The plan had been simple. Two hunters. Cozy up to them. Ask questions, hint at things, send them on their way. Pose as members of the public to encourage them to leave Beacon Hills in the dust. Everything had been going to plan. Everything had been _fine_. Then one of the hunters had made a few snide comments about what could only have been the Hale fire and Derek's plan had fallen by the wayside. Anger had sharpened his tongue until the two hunters had started snapping back at him. In the end they'd lost the hunters, and suffered the extra indignation of being _escorted_ out of the building.

The thing is... Derek knows they need to try again. _He_ needs to. He doesn't want to send Isaac in (though he could probably do it) because now the hunters are angry too and he doesn't want to risk his pack. It's just a bitter moment where Derek is forced to realize that he fucked up, and he hadn't done it _alone_.

Because Stiles is there, grinning up a storm, teasing, and Derek can feel his hackles rising more and more. He shoots Stiles a bitter look, glaring at him sharply, but the kid doesn't take the hint. Instead he continues, babbling his head off, stepping in close and batting his eyelashes in a way that should be obnoxious but really only gets Derek's pulse quickening.

He tells himself _no_ , as he's been telling himself for the last two fucking years. But his anger only climbs higher and at the implication that Stiles could just _wile_ his way in, Derek feels his control beginning to crack. His teeth set so tightly that it's a wonder his jaw doesn't shatter.

"Do you _ever_ shut up? Do you _really_ think any of this is helpful in _any_ way?" Derek snaps, and there's a near-rumble of a growl in his voice as he glares at Stiles.

* * *

Stiles knows he's being a dickhead, but c'mon, Derek had fucked up royally. It's amusing. It had been entertaining to watch Alpha Daddy try to be suave and charming but then fail so spectacularly in the end. Derek may be a werewolf, but he's still human and humans make mistakes - human _dudes especially_. Seeing someone as hot as Derek crash and burn gives Stiles hope, okay? (And yeah, maybe a part of him hadn't liked the idea of either of the hunters cozying up to Derek.)

While this isn't the first time Stiles has been kicked out of a place, it's the first time with _Derek_ and Stiles is still ruthlessly amused by it. He thinks he's earned this bit of teasing. It's not like Derek has ever been overly nice to him anyway. Derek can take it, he just doesn't _like_ it. And Stiles isn't joking. He's pretty sure he could spin something and become more buddy-buddy with them. And he'd even let Derek watch, 'cuz why not?

"Why don't you ma-ma-make me shut up, big boy?" Stiles sing-songs back with a chuckle. "But you're kinda rawr hot when you're angry so I don't really know if I really _want_ you to." Stiles then gives a wink.

* * *

Derek's not pissed over striking out. He's pissed that he's in this situation to begin with, and even _more_ pissed that Stiles had been there to witness it. His hackles don't exist in this form, but that doesn't mean that he can't feel the phantom prickling at the nape of his neck, sliding down between his shoulders as anger rises. He tries to tell himself to be smart about this, to _not_ act out, but Stiles fucking Stilinski makes it almost impossible.

Derek's jaw tightens further and he watches, with thinly-veiled anger, as Stiles' jeering becomes less teasing and more jeering (at least in Derek's perception). Were it _any_ of the others, they'd have known better, would have stepped back. Even Peter, Derek knows, wouldn't antagonize him when he's giving off signs like this. But Stiles is a _human_ and he doesn't know any better because he can't sense how close to the edge he's coming.

Derek tries to breathe through it, even turns away and scrubs at his face with one hand. He's riled from the hunters, from the memory, and Stiles is just adding to it with every second. For an alarming moment, Derek thinks he might punch the kid, then reels that urge back in. Punching him could kill him, or concuss him, and Derek doesn't actually want that. He's tempted though.

And then Stiles jeers even more, teasing, chuckling, calling Derek _hot_ , and then just up and winking at him, and something in Derek's mind just... blanks. His eyes flash (it's safe to do so, but that's more luck than anything else) and then suddenly his hand shoots out, grabbing in Stiles' shirt so tightly that it's a wonder it doesn't rip under his hand.

"You want me to _make_ you shut up? Fine," Derek growls, and then he's tugging so sharply that it's only by sheer force of gravity that he doesn't pull Stiles right off of his feet. He storms off only as far as an alleyway, just out of the public eye, and then he suddenly gives Stiles a harsh push that would have likely hit his head against the wall had Derek not stopped it before he could.

Then, before Stiles can get out more than a few awkward words of panic-or-further jeering, Derek crowds into his personal space and blankets him with his body. There's no warning one way or another. One moment he's standing there, and the next he's kissing Stiles so hard that his lips will be red with it for days.

* * *

One minute it's fun and games (at least for Stiles) and then the next is Derek's hand is surging forward and his collar is being gripped.

"Whoa there," he blurts. Stiles' first thought is that he's wearing a nicer shirt - it has a collar and everything - and he hopes Derek doesn't rip it. Surely some goading is not worth fabric tearing. Stiles hasn't been going _that_ hard, really. It had been like, less than two minutes. He has no idea why Derek has decided to snap.

His next realization is complicated. Derek could seriously harm or kill him, yes, but Derek is also touching him and close and Stiles kinda likes it. A lot. Stiles doesn't even try to pull away (which would be both pitiful and futile, but seems like a logical response in this kind of situation).

It gets more complicated when Derek practically growls out words that Stiles has no time to ponder on because he's then unceremoniously dragged around the corner into the alley. Stiles' mouth is open and ready to give commentary, but he's legitimately shocked and curious. He then gets a little flash of fear when he's shoved against a wall and he almost hits his head.

"Hey assho--" is all he gets out before Derek advances and Stiles is made to shut up because _Derek_ is kissing him.

For a moment, Stiles is honestly paralyzed, which doesn't matter because Derek is pinning him to the wall with his body. And kissing him. And oh my God, _DerekDerekDerek_ . Stiles has wanted this for years. His pulse skyrockets as reality settles over him and then Stiles is kissing back just as enthusiastically. He's pathetically hard after like five seconds of kissing and Stiles wants to touch Derek, to grasp onto his stupid leather jacket, but the idea of reaching out to Derek like that is terrifying. Instead, Stiles forces his hands into fists by his sides. He also refuses to hump or grind into Derek.

His plan? To enjoy the moment for as long as possible.

* * *

It's not _just_ this incident. It's everything. It's the fact there are hunters in his territory, threatening his pack. It's Scott's vehement insistence that he's not _really_ a part of the pack, and yet his gravitation towards Isaac. It's Erica's teasing and Boyd's knowing looks. It's Peter's fucking _everything_ , and constantly butting heads with Jackson and Lydia. It's the fact that he'd been unwilling to put Isaac at risk (who would have done this _so_ much better than him) and that Stiles had volunteered. It's the fact that Stiles hadn't shut up on the drive over, teasing and would-be-flirting and throwing Derek off enough to already be irritated when they'd started. And it had been the eventual clusterfuck inside with the hunters and Stiles' unsubtle laughter, and now all this.

So while it's only been a few minutes for Stiles, it's been a few _hours_ for Derek. Longer if he counts the way Stiles had been talking at the loft, and the way his damn shirt and jeans have been hugging him since showing up. Derek's anger feels like equal parts genuine anger and sexual frustration, and despite the _overwhelming_ evidence as to why it is a bad idea to do this, he doesn't care. At least... he doesn't care until _after_ he's already kissing Stiles breathless and Stiles has gone rigid against him, like Derek's lips hold a live current.

It takes him only a second to begin to doubt, to realize what he'd just _done_ , and then suddenly the lips under his are responding _very_ positively. Derek's immediate flood of guilty panic dies and just like that, it's overshadowed by everything that's been dwelling under the surface for years.

Stiles Stilinski is _infuriating_ and he never shuts up, but his scent has been burned into Derek's mind, and it's not just about the physical. Yes, it is _now_ , but there had been so many nights spent in Stiles' bedroom at three in the morning, stressed and on edge and lost until Stiles had made some damn comment to snap him out of it. Stiles had always been there, a veritable lifeline despite their supposed antagonism, and Derek's never been known for making good choices.

So he kisses Stiles breathless. He scents the spike of arousal between them, which comes as no surprise, but it still makes a growl rumble deeply through Derek's throat as he buries his fingers in Stiles' hair and forces his lips parted, kissing him deeply with no sign of hesitation. Though through it all, he does notice Stiles' hands at his sides, rigid, fists clenched, untouching, and that _means_ something, but Derek doesn't care.

He doesn't care if Stiles isn't grabbing at him or grinding against him. (Except he does, but he's forced this on Stiles, and it's Derek's attraction anyway). He just throws himself into kissing that much more, as if to make up for the lack of contact. Stiles hasn't said _no_. That's a comfort.

* * *

Stiles isn't thinking about the mission gone wrong. He isn't concerned about the hunters. It's not that Stiles doesn't care or won't care later. He'll definitely help Derek come up with another plan. He'll definitely help brainstorm and do whatever is necessary to help the pack out because Stiles does care about Derek's pack. These guys are his friends, after all. He doesn't want them in danger and Stiles may be _only_ a human, but that isn't going to stop him.

Right now Derek is kissing him and it's seriously the hottest kiss in his life. Stiles wants to pinch himself to make sure this isn't a dream. It could maybe be a prank too. Derek could pull away and laugh at him.

But Derek keeps kissing him, the scratch of stubble already starting to burn slightly against his own clean-shaven face. Stiles has thought about this once or twice.

Okay, more than once or twice. He'd had a crush on Derek since Derek had popped out and told Scott and him to scram. But Derek had never seemed like the type that would be interested in him (and that's interested in _any_ capacity). Stiles has proven himself helpful to the point where Derek has come to him to ask for his advice or to get him to research, but on more than one occasion Stiles has thought that he's just a necessary evil that Derek is forced to deal with.

But Derek is still kissing him. It could have been a quick peck to shock-surprise-shut him up, but it's not. Nope. Fingers grip into his hair and Stiles refuses to close his eyes. Yeah, with Derek's face all up in his face, he can't see much, but he doesn't want to _not_ see. And as Derek kisses, Stiles grows hotter, his heart feeling like it's going to jump out of his chest like a bad cartoon.

It's when Derek nips at his bottom lip that Stiles cries out in a pleasured surprise and his hips jerk forward. Given the height difference, he's not exactly able to grind into Derek's dick but Stiles' body automatically makes the adjustment and spreads his legs and leans forward so Derek's thigh is now against his boner.

And Stiles hasn't asked permission. It's presumptuous. His hands shake with the ferocity it takes to _not_ reach out and touch, but Stiles does begin rubbing against Derek's thigh. The slight attention has him hastily ripping his head away from Derek's mouth with a gasp. His knuckles are white and Stiles lips are flush and feel sore.

"Oh my god-- fuck--" he begins after a quick breath. His hips have stilled (because grinding into someone when you're not kissing them just seems really rude). "Can we? Again? Please? You okay with this?"

* * *

This is a god-awful idea, but there's no going back. Derek's already made the mistake, and if he's already slipped, why shouldn't he stay where he is and enjoy it while he can? The anger is still pounding through him, hot and twisting, and this... this is like a balm on Derek's senses. It's an outlet that isn't driving his fist through a wall. It's something that he can do where he doesn't risk hurting himself or others around him, both the others in the building and Stiles in front of him.

And though he shouldn't be thinking it, it's good. It _feels_ fucking amazing. Stiles' lips are soft and his mouth is sweet and his body is almost unexpectedly firm against Derek's. It would have been had he not seen Stiles shirtless a few times over the past few months, but feeling it is something altogether different. Derek feels every second like an electric current running through his mind as he kisses Stiles messily, biting at his lips and swallowing the sharpness of the cry he finally lets out.

Then Stiles' hips jerk against Derek and the feeling of Stiles' dick against his thigh - clothed and contained, but hard and hot - has heat pooling low and sudden. Derek almost freezes, almost jerks away, but he doesn't. Instead there's a slight hitch of breath, a slight pause of surprise, but then the desire to just push crashes into him harder and so he doesn't object. Stiles jerks his hips and grinds against the thigh he manages to get Derek to slot between his legs, and it's hot and heavy. It's Derek biting kisses and swallowing breaths and groans, and it's so damn perfect, except neither of them have planned this.

And then Stiles breaks away and Derek expects the worst. But instead of shoving him back or cursing, Stiles' voice is rough and breathless and so different that Derek's cock aches where it's trapped in his jeans.

This is the moment to shove away, to snarl back, to snap that it had been a mistake.

He doesn't say it.

Instead he studies the bitten-flush of Stiles' lips, breathes in the scent of him, and heeds Stiles' shaky plea. "I'm fine with it if you _be quiet_ , before someone hears you," Derek hisses, and the anger is still there, but it's quickly becoming something else. A heavy need in his chest, a hunger. He presses closer, pinning Stiles to the cold brick wall. A part of him wants to bury his face against Stiles' throat, to scent him properly. To apologize, to explain, but that holds risks that Derek can't take.

So instead he bites another kiss to Stiles' lips and then breaks away just to impatiently growl, "you wanted me to make you shut up. That's what I'm doing. Touch me if you want to," he adds, and then surges into another kiss, rougher and deep, almost stealing away as much of Stiles' breath as he can.

* * *

Stiles is aware that kissing and grinding and groping Derek in an alley is, likely, not a great idea... but his dick seems to think it is. His erection is very supportive of this endeavor. And... a tight squirmy part inside of him is also hopeful that this could _mean_ something more than an act of sexual aggression. Oh, Stiles is all for someone taking out their sexual aggression on him. He'll step right up for that, proud and willing volunteer. But... _more_ is like Willy Wonka's golden ticket to the chocolate factory and Stiles wants that - wants everything.

In the few seconds after he's spoken, there is an undercurrent of anxiety that _now_ will be the delivery of the cruel joke. Derek looks at his face and Stiles wonder what he sees, wonders how Derek sees him. Is he still Scott's aggravating friend? Is he desirable or just available? These are questions that skip through Stiles' mind that he doesn't want to think on. Derek answers him, his tone still a little angry, but his words practical.

... Or are they? Why does it matter if someone sees them? He's pretty sure it's not illegal to makeout like this. Don't people do this kind of thing all the time? More questions that don't get an answer because Derek is pressing closer to him and Stiles is marveling at the sensation of being pinned between the wall and Derek and clearly they need to do this more often. What snaps him out of it is Derek adding on that he can touch back if he wants. The allowance hits him and settles into his bones and when the kiss starts up again, Stiles doesn't hold himself back. He rocks against Derek's thigh and his hands decide to be bold and snake underneath Derek's shirt and slide up a muscled back.

God, he can't believe he's doing this. Stiles is having a hard time coordinating his body. His thrusts are stilted and more than a few times his hands still their exploration of Derek's skin. Stiles' eyes are still open as he kisses back and he does try and be quiet but these stupid little sounds slip out every once in a while. And it's all dirty - tongue and teeth - and Stiles feels so goddamn hard and far too close and he just wants to do this for hours not minutes pleaseeeee. His nails scratch hard over Derek's skin and when Stiles pulls away it's with a bitten-off groan and a wince.

"Slow-- maybe slow down? Don't wanna jizz in my pants like a teenager."

Which is a complete lie because that's exactly what Stiles wants to do he just doesn't want to get off in the next twenty seconds.

* * *

It's easier to not think. It's easier to throw himself into this full force and deal with the consequences later. He knows Stiles is attracted to him; most people are. Derek doesn't think it's more than that. Stiles has always been annoying, has always teased or poked fun or jeered at him and they have a very physical relationship, just... it's never been like this before.

Derek doesn't want to think about how this will look when the dust settles, because he knows it's not going to turn out well. There's still the hunters to worry about, still any number of things looking to sneak into Derek's territory in the dark (and he has to wonder if it's just because he isn't strong enough, or if it's just because he's an awful leader...) but this is a danger of a different sort.

So he doesn't think. He acts. He surges into the kiss and takes with the hunger of a man aware that he'll only get this once. He kisses Stiles' lips until they're swollen, and when he feels Stiles rut against his thigh again, Derek hesitates only for a second before pressing it closer and flexing it in time to Stiles' thrusts.

The feeling of hands - a little chilled from the night air - sliding under his shirt has Derek's back arching and a soft sound, almost a groan, escaping him. His own jeans are painfully tight but it's not about getting off for him, though it maybe should be. It's about anger that is quickly fading to a different sort of passion. It's about those soft, near-whimpered sounds that escape Stiles' throat and go right to Derek's dick. It's about the way he tries to match Derek's tongue, the way he tries to bite back, and the scent of heady arousal all through the alleyway. Derek quickly feels drunk on it, on Stiles' taste, the way he feels, the warmth of his body.

Then nails are raking down his back and Derek's just startled enough that he lets Stiles break the kiss. His own gasp is shallow, but the growl that follows it isn't. Derek's hands - slightly-clawed - ball into fists, one against the wall and the other tangled in Stiles' hair. The scratch burns as it heals and Derek immediately wants Stiles to do it again, but he's talking, and it takes Derek a little too long to hear what he's saying.

Slow down. He doesn't want to come in his pants.

Derek's instincts flare then, growling and proud, and suddenly the thought of Stiles coming in his pants is the _only_ thing he can think about. He shudders and distantly registers the beat of Stiles' heart, knows he _wants_ to, and that's all Derek needs. He presses in closer and bites with blunt, human teeth, first at the line of Stiles' throat, then at the lobe of his ear. His voice is low and rough.

"What if I want you to?" He presses his thigh closer and moves, flexing it against the line of Stiles' dick. "You think you could still keep quiet? Might have to bite something."

* * *

He needs to last at least two more minutes. Okay, at least one and half. Stiles can live with one minute, but _only_ if he absolutely has to. It's not that it's a _huge_ matter of pride, it's that he doesn't want to come so quick and have this be over because it's probably going to be awkward and Derek will stop it after he comes because it's Stiles who has lost first in this game and Derek will have the upper hand or something like that.

He can't help that he hasn't had much in the way of sexy fun times. And it's _Derek Hale_ , the epitome of anyone's sexual fantasy. It's only natural that he'd be so into this. Right? Right.

It's not terribly comfortable being pushed up against a cold wall. His dick is trapped somewhat awkwardly within the confines of his boxers and jeans and the lower part of his face burns from Derek's stubble. But that doesn't matter because Derek's thigh is pressed against him and then Derek is closer and biting him on his neck and Stiles' eyelids now flutter closed. He's trying to think of unsexy things in the face of all the sexy things happening but it's damn near impossible when Derek's sinful mouth then moves and bites at the lobe of his ear (and how is an ear even sexy!?) but it somehow is.

Stiles is breathing harshly, he feels like a tightly coiled spring. His nails dig into Derek's back and then Derek speaks - tone low and it's like the hottest words he's ever heard - and that coupled with the flex of Derek's thigh is enough to push Stiles over the edge. Stiles comes with a surprised choked out gasp, his eyes snapping open.

"Oh my God, f-fuck, I didn't--" For once Stiles can't finish his sentence as he jerks against Derek and feels heat spill and soak into his boxers.

* * *

Derek wants more than he deserves as he works Stiles up past the point of no return. This doesn't mean anything; Stiles is a teenager and Derek's pretty sure that given the times he's scented Stiles' arousal, _anything_ could get him going. It doesn't mean that Derek doesn't want it to mean something, though. It doesn't mean that he doesn't want to rut up against Stiles' hip, or come all over him, or rub his scent into Stiles' skin. All ill-advised, instinctual wants, all really damn stupid, but the thoughts are there. This is arguably the stupidest thing that Derek has done in a long damn time. Stiles must be all right with it because he's enthusiastic enough, but that doesn't make it a good idea. But Derek's already in this deep. Why not add a few more bad decisions to his file?

So he taunts. He coaxes, and he _wants_ , and Stiles doesn't disappoint. Derek feels the jerk and he hisses as Stiles' nails dig into his skin. It's closeness and passion on its own, and just for a second he can even pretend... and then Stiles jerks viscerally against him and his hips lose their half-rhythm. Derek breathes in deep, scenting the thick arousal on the air as Stiles gasps and babbles something almost intelligible. Then Derek's left pinning him, _feeling_ each twitching jerk of Stiles' body as he comes in his boxers.

The urge to drop to his knees, to taste, or to rub his face against the front of Stiles' jeans is strong enough that he almost does it, but there's no guarantee what this means and Derek won't push it. He just growls, drinking in every damn second that he can.

He doesn't come, but there had never been a risk of that. Derek's not one to let himself go like this where just anyone could catch him, and the uncertainty keeps a small voice in the back of his mind from going too far. It doesn't stop him from grasping at Stiles and holding tight, though. It doesn't stop Derek from pressing rough, scratchy kisses to Stiles' throat, and it sure as hell doesn't stop him from feeling the faintest hint of wetness through his own jeans. He'll need to wash or change before his pack notice the scent, but _fuck_ if it isn't worth it for this.

Derek's fingers card through Stiles' hair once, and he doesn't draw away instantly. He's breathing hard, his eyes dark but no longer red, and his jeans are tented obscenely. He doesn't push it beyond that, though. He just looks down at Stiles, a simmering hunger in his eyes that he doesn't give voice to.

Instead he looks Stiles over once, then gruffly asks, "you okay?"

* * *

`

Mayday. May-fucking-day. This isn't how it's supposed to happen, okay? Stiles had wanted like, a minute longer. He'd wanted _this_ to last longer, to kiss Derek more, to touch and be touched more. But now he's a goner and yeah the orgasm feels really good, better than when he jerks off quick in the shower, and Derek doesn't immediately make to pull away or tease him about it. No, Derek kisses at his throat and remains close (and it's pretty damn nice).

As Stiles comes down, the reality of what's just happened slowly trickles in. Derek had just pulled him into the alley, pinned him to a wall and kissed him senseless. Stiles' lips actually feels sore, his lower face burns from the scratch of stubble. Derek also let him get off - encouraged it even.

Wow. It's then Stiles notices that _Derek_ is hard too and the realization is shocking. Maybe it's been a while for Derek. And holy shit he's glad Derek struck out.

Derek looks him over and inquires on how he is. Stiles blinks dumbly, the haze of his rushed orgasm settling over him and he's going to blame what he says next on the afterglow. "Yeah, completely okay. More than okay. I am totally on board for this - whatever you want. Whenever."

Stiles' mouth quirks into a dopey grin as his hands stroke down Derek's back before Stiles pulls them away. It doesn't even matter that his boxers are stuck to him uncomfortably and that there will probably be a wet spot. Stiles is just excited that Derek is finally _doing_ something with him (because Stiles could have sworn they had some chemistry).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos? c:


	3. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he's kicking at some pebbles and muttering to himself, the sounds of approaching steps are not picked up by Stiles. Derek raising his voice does, though and Stiles spooks, jolting and his hands flying out to form karate hands until he realizes it's just Derek giving him shit. He then rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another! Don't worry, this will have a happy ending and at least 2 more chapters. ✧٩(ˊωˋ*)و✧
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

Stiles huffs and shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat, unfortunately now a little aroused. He doesn't know why he'd just thought about that - their infamous first kiss. Even though it'd only been a few months ago, it feels like a long time has passed. He'd been such a stupid naive kid coming in his pants and all-too happy for any attention from Derek. The thirst had been real and it's funny to remember how hesitant he'd felt to touch back. He's glad that's changed.

He feels warmer from the memory and Derek had told him to stay here - not technically in the car. 'Here' is up for interpretation so Stiles makes the decision and gets out of the car. The fresh air is nice and it feels good to be standing and walking and not stifled by the oppressive Derek'ness in the car. He glances at the forest but of course he can't see anything. 

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be able to run like a wolf through the forest, to have those keen, sharp senses to be able to see, smell and hear more acutely. Stiles thinks he would make a good werewolf, but having the human perspective… he likes to think that it helps. And anyway, there's a chance he could die. He can't do that to his dad or his friends.

Stiles shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and decides to patrol the car, strolling around the vehicle and giving it an appraising look. 

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now, Black Beauty."

* * *

Derek's muscles burn as he runs. It's not like running can _fix_ any of his problems, but it feels good to feel his muscles burn, to feel like he's doing something instead of wallowing in the misery his mind keeps supplying him with. So he runs. His shoes slip every now and then on damp roots and Derek aches to just throw them off and shift and _go_ , but he doesn't. Instead he races past bush and tree alike, feeling the wind over his skin and the cooler air seeping in through his shirt. Running feels good, especially after what Stiles had said, but Derek refuses to let himself think on it right now. Instead he lets his eyes bleed red and he goes, scenting the air as he does.

He runs until his heart is racing in his chest, until he feels breathless with it, and only then does he finally slow to a walk, breathing harder and surrounded by the thick, sharp scent of pine and fir and the sweet rot under the blanket of pine needles underfoot. Derek patrols then, refusing to let himself think about what Stiles had said, because the concept is too much for him. So Derek focuses instead on doing a proper patrol, on scenting and exploring and leaving a mark on a few trees to ensure any outsiders know this territory is owned.

The scent of Omega on the air is faint, not sharp, and Derek nods, pleased that the scent is fading even now. He can't sense any other hints in the air, can't smell anything overt that registers as danger. Once Derek has done a full circle, he reluctantly turns and begins to make his way back to the edge of the Preserve. He walks at first, still breathless, but when the urgency fades and his thoughts begin to return, Derek's jaw tightens and he takes off again at a run, albeit not a quick one.

Stiles had been a _virgin_. That's bad enough. Enough to make the guilt rake along his throat. But hearing that Stiles considers himself a booty call... it's not like Derek hadn't known, but if Stiles thinks of himself like that, he thinks of what they're doing like that. Derek slows in his run when he starts to get close to the car again and looks down at his hand. He'd taken Stiles' pain. Stiles has no idea. He breathes out harshly through his nose, sweat cooling on his skin, and when he takes off for those final few yards to go back to the car, he shoves the thoughts out of his mind again.

He has to. Because when he actually _looks_ at his car and sees a familiar pale _gnat_ hovering around _outside_ of it, Derek's non-existent hackles try to rise. He blinks the red from his eyes, forcing himself to settle, and it's only when he approaches Stiles that he scents the familiar, sweet scent of his arousal. It only gives Derek brief pause before he growls and walks over, eyes narrowed.

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to stay in the car!"

* * *

Stiles does a few rounds this way, then a few the opposite. Rounds equals strolling around the Camaro and humming or whistling. Nothing is going bump in the night, but being as it _is_ the night, Stiles can't see for shit anyway. He needs to get some night vision goggles. He should go bug Chris Argent for some. And then he'll wear all black, as well as a beanie and go all Mission Impossible up in this place. 

Even if he's not being much help _now_ , Stiles thinks he's going to miss this if he ends up moving away for school. His dad has been bugging him to make some kind of decision, but... Stiles has kind of been lagging with that matter because... Well, it's complicated! The pack is staying, doing the whole take a year off thing (and not like any of them are under huge financial stresses with Derek around). Scott is taking a Vet Tech course from a nearby town so he's just going to be commuting.

But Derek is staying here and yeah, Derek would be fine without him, but will Stiles? Being around Derek and the pack gives him purpose or something. And maybe, if they kept up with the whole secretly-banging-each-other-thing, maybe Derek would develop feelings for him and then it wouldn't _have_ to be this scandalous secret. A guy can hope.

Because he's kicking at some pebbles and muttering to himself, the sounds of approaching steps are not picked up by Stiles. Derek raising his voice does, though and Stiles spooks, jolting and his hands flying out to form karate hands until he realizes it's just Derek giving him shit. He then rolls his eyes.

"Dude," he begins, turning to face Derek and lowering his hands. "You said _stay_. Nothing about inside the car. If you want me to obey when you're all Alpha Daddy and pissed off, you're going to have to give _clear instructions_." 

* * *

Derek's glare deepens until it looks vaguely like he's smelled something he hadn't wanted to. Yes, seeing Stiles flail in fright _had_ been satisfying in a sense, but Derek's thoughts are still dark (broody, Stiles would say) and he's not in what he'd call a great mood. Normally, were he feeling like this because of something Stiles had said, Derek would have likely already been climbing in through Stiles' bedroom window to fuck the frustration away, but it's different like this. In Stiles' room, it's secure and closed off, like a safe space outside of the outside world. Here all there _is_ is outside, and Derek feels the cool air on his sweat-damp skin acutely now that he's not running anymore. 

He probably could use a shower, but it's likely the last thing on his mind. He feels less like isolating himself at least. Anger is preferable to hurt, so that he's only irritated now is likely a great sign. But Stiles... as always, he has to go and be mouthy, and the worst of it is that Derek thinks Stiles might be right. He can't remember what he'd said, only that it had been said in a fit of pique. His irritation only grows.

"You know I don't want anyone alone and exposed on patrol," Derek snaps back, missing the hypocrisy that he'd just done it himself. "At least in the car you'd be _safe_ , but that'd never cross your mind, would it? What were you even _doing?_ "

His nose wrinkles a little, because between the karate hands and the odd half-pacing thing Stiles had been doing, Derek has no idea. But as he considers, he suddenly holds up a hand and waves it, interrupting before Stiles can start. 

"No. You know what? I don't want to know. How _clear_ do you need your instructions, Stiles? Correct me if I'm wrong," he's sure Stiles will... "but you seem perfectly fine with vague instructions when you've got your legs around me."

* * *

Stiles doesn't know what the big deal is. He really doesn't. Thinking back to their argument? Wait. Was it even an argument? He doesn't even really know what they had been fighting about. Derek looks sweaty and broody and hot and normally Stiles likes all of this, but he has this sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, something is really wrong. Maybe it's something significant. Stiles has never liked the conflicts that keep growing and multiplying and this feels like it could be one.

Even so, he gets sarcastic with Derek. Being sarcastic and mouthy... that's the norm. That's what Derek is used to. That's who Stiles is, isn't he? This is what they do. They banter. They're both assholes in their own way. And _before_ it had been Derek shoving his head into his steering wheel if he went too far and now it's rough fucking and biting his nipple until it's bruised and sore and it's obvious which one Stiles prefers.

Stiles doesn't know how safe he'd actually be in the car. Camaro VS. werewolf -- fight! It's obvious the werewolf would win in a heartbeat. Stiles doesn't really get a chance to reply because apparently, Derek is on a roll with the questions and there's displeasure that's rolling off of him in waves. And when Derek finally seems to settle on the question that he wants to be answered, Stiles is standing there, hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie and expression incredulous. 

Technically Derek is right. When Stiles does have his legs wrapped around Derek, crystal clear instructions hardly matter but Stiles is pretty sure that that's unfair to bring up. Instructions like: shut up, move to the right... They're pretty easy.

He feels a tendril of panic twist in his gut and Stiles bites his bottom lip.

"Do you wanna mess around? Would that make you feel better?" His voice is a little shaky and Stiles hates it, but this is... This is all he can do. He swallows and looks down at his sneakers and tries again. "I'm annoying you, right? I'm bugging you. Like I apparently always do. You didn't even want me here. You never do." 

Stiles unzips his hoodie, shrugging it off and stepping closer to Derek. "But I can make it up to you, yeah?" He drops his hoodie on the ground, lowering himself down to it and getting to his knees in front of Derek.

* * *

Derek doesn't realize his tone is any different. Stiles has this way of bypassing his anger anyway, has this way of letting Derek's words roll off of his back like they're nothing and just bouncing back up again. It's like an eternal game of whack-a-mole, Stiles impossible to keep down, and Derek initially annoyed but eventually charmed. But right now he doesn't feel charmed. He feels... he doesn't know how he feels, but he doesn't like it. He's not about to _say_ it though, because that's not who they are. 

Yes, Stiles had been _integral_ in numerous fights so far. He's quick-thinking and sharp, and he has this way of rallying the pack that Derek only wishes he could. But they don't have a relationship where they just lounge and talk. They never have. It's always been living on the edge or fighting danger, or life-or-death. Even in the downtimes, it's been tense. Hell, just a week ago, an Omega had tried to take a chunk out of Stiles, and Derek's still not sure Stiles knows that half the shit he did to the corpse - literally tearing it apart - hadn't been necessary. It had been Derek's anger and fear finally finding an outlet. 

But this... this is different. They've never talked about what they are, or what this is, so Derek had been able to pretend. He's used to people using him for his body; in Stiles' case, he's not actually sure he minds. But hearing it out loud... yeah, something's wrong. Derek's a fucking idiot and Stiles had been a damn _virgin_ , and it feels like things are spiraling. But Derek's going to keep his head above water the way he always does. (At least with Stiles...) But even so, _he_ doesn't think there's a difference in his tone but there must be, because Stiles looks suddenly incredulous. Then Derek scents the shift from casual irritation to something closer to panic. 

Immediately Derek looks around to make sure the cause isn't something Stiles has seen. He's not comforted by the knowledge that it's apparently _him_ that Stiles is afraid of. Derek visibly tries to wrest himself back under control. He even manages to look a little contrite, because this... thing between them, while dysfunctional, has never been about Stiles being afraid. 

Then Stiles is talking, and Derek fucking _hates_ the tone of his voice. He watches as Stiles slips off his hoodie, registering the dejection in Stiles' posture, but when Stiles suddenly gets onto his knees, even Derek's taken aback by it. He draws in a quick, startled breath (because Stiles does this for him sometimes and his response is basically Pavlovian by now) but there's still something in Stiles' words that wrenches roughly into Derek's heart. He bites back a growl because frustration will make it worse.

"I want you here," he says, but the admission sounds tight and awkward; God, has he ever said that to Stiles before? He's _thought_ it, and Stiles just always seems to know. "But I want you _safe_ , Stiles. That Omega would have killed you, because you were on your own." 

Derek's voice doesn't sound as confident. Something twists in his stomach and, if only to pretend that he's okay, he reaches down and slides his fingers into Stiles' hair, encouraging. He doesn't apologize, but his touch is gentle. It's all he can manage right now. 

* * *

It's not strange to be on his knees before Derek. Stiles has done this before - not a lot, but enough to know that Derek likes him looking up through his eyelashes while he sucks on Derek's dick. Their first kiss may have been outside - the first time Stiles got off with Derek, too - but not much else has been. There are the occasional stolen lip action moments, but nothing like Stiles is suggesting, not a full-fledged blowjob.

Even with his hoodie under his knees, the ground is hard. It doesn't matter to Stiles. If he can just get them back on track, if he can engage Derek like this, it'll be better. He can make it better. What guy wouldn't want a blowjob? No one, that's who.

And Stiles may not know what's exactly wrong, or how to fix any of it, but this is like triage. This is a bandaid and this is what he knows works. Getting off calms Derek. Stiles can at least do this right. He's _going to_ do this right. 

Stiles both sees and hears the gasp that comes from Derek when Derek registers what he's planning. But Derek's words are not what he's expecting. He's pretty sure Derek has never said anything like that before. Derek wants him here, as in right now, with him, or just around in general? 

Stiles can't ask because wonders never cease and Derek _continues_ and mentions the last Omega incident - which Stiles has pointedly _not_ been thinking about. Stiles doesn't like to think about any of his near-death experiences. Why would he? They're in the past. Stiles swallows, a frown working its way onto his face before one of Derek's hands reaches out and touches him. It's not a demanding touch. It's not Derek jerking him forward either. Stiles' heart is beating faster for an entirely different reason. He scoots closer, his hands lifting to grip at Derek's hips, settling over his belt. Stiles then purposefully nuzzles his cheek against Derek's crotch, rubbing a bit like a cat. 

"Tell me again," he whispers, knowing Derek can still hear him. "Say it again, Derek." He hopes Derek understands because Stiles doesn't think he can ask for it. Stiles then drags his mouth along Derek's not-quite-soft cock.

* * *

Derek does love this sight. Stiles doesn't do it like this often, granted. It's usually while Derek's tense and stressed and clipped in Stiles' room where Stiles pushes him back on the bed and crawls over top of him to blow him. Getting on his knees isn't common, but the way Stiles looks up at him is, and Derek feels blood rush south, feels the ache of arousal wash over him at the knowledge that Stiles is legitimately planning this out in the open. He darts a quick look around them, as if trying to check for anyone who might be looking, but in the end Derek's touch remains gentle as he coaxes Stiles that much closer. He doesn't tug at his hair, just cups at the back of his head, stroking his hair. It's arguably the softest they've been. 

He might love this, but he doesn't know what _this_ is. Stiles is acting weird. Weirder than usual anyway, but even Derek knows that this is important. He can sense the tension between them; he knows that Stiles is usually all cocky self-assurance, not... quiet. Like a dog not eating, a quiet Stiles is cause for alarm. Derek doesn't say anything; he doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't even know why Stiles is upset. If it's what he'd said... well, he's said worse. Why _this_ time?

Derek's saved from answering by the way that Stiles suddenly scoots in closer and presses his cheek to the growing rise in Derek's jeans. Derek's breath hitches before releasing on a shudder. He looks down at Stiles, watching, but the request catches him off guard. Tell him again? Say it again? Say _what?_

Derek's frown is mild but the press of Stiles' lips even through denim makes him grunt. He curls his fingers in Stiles' hair but doesn't pull or tug. Instead he thinks back, going over what he'd said. Stiles doesn't want to know about the Omega, he's sure, but... what else had he said? The safe thing? Or... no, maybe... _God_ , if it is, that's even worse.

Derek swallows anyway. "I want you safe," he says, and his voice is firm. It's just as firm when he adds: "And I want you here. You're annoying, and you never shut up, but you're important."

* * *

Stiles doesn't need the reassurance, but he wants it. He also doesn't need Derek to be _his_ , for them to be in some legit relationship - but he wants that too. He doesn't need them to be open and public either, but he'd prefer it. He wants it. He does.

He asks for reassurance this time and Stiles hates the tremor in his voice, hates asking for something _emotional_ from Derek because Derek has never been the one to offer that kind of support. 

__

_Stiles_ tries to rationalize and calm Derek (and the others) down. It's Stiles who is more in touch with the whole thoughts and feelings thing (at least usually or more so than Derek at least). Derek is the wolf power. The brawn. The stubbornness. The determination. The action man. Stiles only has his head and heart so that's what he has come to rely on.

He's heard Derek say a lot of things. He's been on the receiving end for a great deal of 'Alpha Daddy is disappointed by you' lectures and looks. He's heard Derek growl and snarl at him, both out of frustration and petty annoyance. But Stiles hasn't heard Derek ever admit that Derek had _wanted_ him around in any capacity. Sometimes Stiles just feels like a package deal. Scott's +1 and by now it's just easier to tolerate his presence. Sex doesn't necessarily mean love. Messing around doesn't mean feelings. Stiles isn't naive enough to hope for such things. He'd like to think that having really great sex could lead to _everything_ but he's not stupid to actually believe it.

What they have is good. It is. It's good enough for Stiles. But he still asks. Just this one time. And Derek's cock is steadily hardening from the attention and Derek's hand is still in his hair so he's doing okay. Stiles needs to focus on that. Stiles had wanted to hear that Derek wanted him around, but the safe thing...? Maybe that's what he _needs_ to hear. Stiles doesn't think about it. He's still as Derek speaks, his lips pressed against the heat of Derek's trapped dick.

Annoying, never shuts up, but important.

Stiles pulls his mouth away as his hands come to Derek's belt and he makes quick work of undoing the clasp. "Then you can shut me up now," Stiles says, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

It's easier to joke. Always has been. And he wants to make amends (because someone has to, right?). This is the only way Stiles know how to. He unzips Derek's jeans and pulls his half-hard cock out through the fly of his boxers. There's no preamble. Stiles licks his lips and then parts them to take Derek's cock in. He sucks steadily, rubbing his tongue against the underside of the dick in his mouth while bobbing his head a little and encouraging Derek to harden further.

* * *

Stiles had wanted to be told that Derek had wanted him around. The words lodge in Derek's mind like fucking cancer and as he stands there and looks down at Stiles, the urge to rip away and go on another run washes over him. Thankfully he bites it back this time, but it doesn't help him in his current situation. 

Because his current situation is that he's just found out that Stiles feels unwanted, and he can't do anything about it. He can't confess; the thought makes Derek's insides feel like ice. And he can't tell Stiles about taking his pain and about what that _means_ even if it would help him feel better, because then it'd open up a whole new set of doors that he wants to keep closed for his own safety. 

But despite how they butt heads and how they've always snarled at one another, Derek had just assumed that Stiles _knew_... until now. Now Derek is left staring down at Stiles and aching to say more. He doesn't. Instead he curls his fingers in Stiles' hair, wishing he could talk like that, and Stiles' joke falls on slightly hollow ears. Derek doesn't protest Stiles' mouth; he's not a complete idiot. But he doesn't feel great about himself when Stiles unzips his jeans and then reaches a hand into his boxers.

Derek almost feels guilty for the bolt of pleasure that curls through him when Stiles eases his dick out into the open air. Derek watches, breathless, as Stiles' tongue snakes out to wet his lips, and then he's leaning in. Derek goes rigid as Stiles' warm mouth closes over his cock, sucking instantly and doing immediately-wicked things with his tongue. Derek's lips part on a soft groan and his fingers tangle in Stiles' hair. Despite his recent discovery, despite his loathing, it still feels good. It's still Stiles on his knees, still his clever tongue making Derek's dick thicken and harden in his mouth. Derek's teeth grit as the seconds pass, and when he's finally mostly-hard, he curses low under his breath and buries his other hand in Stiles' hair. 

"I don't... I don't know what we'd do without you sometimes," he bites out, because this is important. Regardless of his fear, he needs this said. "And I'm not repeating it, so don't fucking forget it. You keep us grounded. You-- fuck, Stiles," Derek trails off, because he can't tell Stiles anything else. Instead he rolls his hips slowly, feeling the warmth and wetness inside of Stiles' mouth, as well as the suction that makes his damn toes curl.

* * *

Sex isn't always a fix, but it's going to fix this problem right now (or at the very least patch it up). Stiles has to believe that, because he's started them down this road and he's going to see it through. They may not be able to talk about much, they may suck at communicating even, but Stiles can do this and he's going to do it awesomely. 

Stiles likes sucking dick. Not that he has a lot of oral sex expertise to compare it to, but he kinda thinks it's easier to manage with the whole external dick swinging around thing anyway. And Derek is never really loud, but he's responsive if you know what to look for or listen to. The soft groan has Stiles' dick rather interested and his own attention has Derek steadily hardening and it's a feeling that Stiles always enjoys. Most of the time Derek is already hard and Stiles doesn't have to work to coax out a boner, but it's kinda fun to have to.

Both hands are now in his hair and Stiles wants to give some snarky response about Derek messing his hair up, but his mouth is full of cock and it _does_ feel nice to have Derek's fingers in his hair anyway. Stiles is ramping up to go to town on Derek's dick when Derek speaks. 

Stiles honestly hadn't been expecting Derek to speak up and Stiles abruptly stops sucking. As soon as Derek mentions not repeating it, Stiles knows he has to keep going, that he can't pull back and ask for Derek to clarify anything. Some unknown emotion burns in Stiles' chest and he decides to close his eyes just to be safe.

The cursing is also safer. And also familiar. Stiles doesn't resist when Derek moves his hips, his dick sliding further into his mouth. Stiles' hands move from Derek's hips to skirt under his shirt. At first he does nothing other than rub up Derek's abs appreciatively before sliding to Derek's mid back. Stiles knows Derek likes his nails, Derek likes when he scratches, but Stiles wants to build up to it, to make Derek _really_ want it.

So Stiles feels up Derek, he lightly massages sweaty skin all the while sucking and licking at Derek's cock. He's not very good at keeping the business a tidy affair, but Stiles doesn't care. He slurps and tries to swallow excess spit when possible, but it's not always the easiest thing to manage. So maybe there's spit leaking out of the corners of his mouth, so what. Showmanship, right? And when Stiles finally rakes his nails down Derek's back, he opens his eyes and purposefully looks up at Derek and goes as deep as he can until he gags.

* * *

Derek's said too much and he knows it, but he can't do anything else. The memory of the look on Stiles' face feels downright haunting and Derek doesn't want that to happen again. So he talks. He says as much as he dares and he doesn't miss the sudden cessation of all activities. He doesn't miss the look in Stiles' eyes, or the complicated twist behind them. Derek could ask but he doesn't. Instead his fingers grip tighter in Stiles' hair, his breathing sharper, and it doesn't take Stiles long to get back to work.

And... _fuck_ , Stiles is good with his mouth. Derek tries not to focus on the fact that Stiles' eyes are closed now. He focuses instead on an overwhelming heat and suction and the way hands skim across his hips and then work up under his shirt. Derek feels Stiles' touch all over his skin, feels the pressure and roughness of his calluses and the tension in his hands that _hints_ at his nails. 

Derek's exhale is sharp and he shudders, muttering a rough curse under his breath as he arches into the touch but he can't focus on it for long. Stiles' mouth is too hot, his tongue too clever, his lips too soft. Derek's dick is fully hard and aching and Stiles - fucking amazing Stiles - doesn't balk at its size. 

His knuckles are slightly white as Derek grips at Stiles' hair, breathless and shuddering. He doesn't want to hurt him though and so he makes himself ease his hold, though not by a lot. Still, it's enough to give Stiles the room he needs to work with and when Derek chances a look down at Stiles' spit-slick lips and the blush stealing across his cheeks, he has to bite back a feral urge to rip Stiles off of his cock and mount him there. Derek's not sure if it's his own willpower that changes his mind or if it's what Stiles _does_. What he _does_ is suddenly rake his nails down Derek's back, leaving stinging welts behind. It's not all, though. Stiles opens his eyes at the same time and Derek's dick is suddenly engulfed in wet, spasming heat that makes him shout. He hunches over Stiles, arching his back, lips drawn back in a half-snarl of pleasure as his cock throbs and aches, drooling likely-copious amounts of precome over Stiles' tongue.

Derek's only slightly guilty when Stiles gags, but even then he doesn't stop. He's skilled, unwilling to back down, his lips a tight-but-messy seal, his hands digging nails into Derek's skin, and his mouth (and his throat) so goddamn _tight_. Derek grunts, and there's no hesitation as he rolls his hips this time. Derek doesn't need time to think; he already knows what he wants.

"Don't--... don't swallow when I come," he says, his voice a half-snarl, low and rough. "I want you to hold it in your mouth. Understand?"

* * *

It's easy for Stiles to lose himself to this task. He may not have superior senses, but he can still smell Derek's musk and sweat. He can smell the default laundry detergent clinging to Derek's jeans. And he can hear Derek's breathing hitch occasionally, the curses that Derek half-gives. He can feel Derek's fingers in his hair - not too tight, but tight enough that Stiles can _feel_ it. Every twitch and shudder Stiles sucks out of Derek feels like the best thing ever.

But the best is surprising Derek and hearing him get actually loud. Stiles hasn't heard Derek this loud before and his own cock hardens in his pants because of it. The gagging part isn't exactly delightful, but Stiles deals with it. He tastes salt - precome - and while it's not tasty, it's still Derek and Stiles likes it for that reason alone. And Derek knows Stiles can take it, so when Derek thrusts a little, Stiles isn't surprised. He digs his nails in to Derek's skin and lets his throat spasm a little before pulling a few inches back to recover. 

Stiles almost misses the instructions. It takes him a moment to process what Derek is telling him. Don't swallow which also probably means don't spit it out either. Keep Derek's jizz in his mouth? Well, that'd be a first, but it's not the strangest of requests. Stiles takes a breath in through his nose before making an affirmative sound around Derek's cock. Stiles can do that. 

So he gets back to it. He sucks and occasionally gags on Derek's dick when he goes too far. Stiles' nails alternate between simply grazing along skin and then scratching hard. His eyes are wet from the gagging, spit is freely leaking from the sides of his mouth, but Stiles is completely hard in his pants. He bobs his head and moans while he does it, /because he doesn't have to worry about being loud now and the realization is very liberating. His cheeks are flushed, the hardness of the ground completely not on his mind. Stiles is singularly focused on getting Derek off and he throws himself into it wholeheartedly. He doesn't close his eyes and as often as possible he catches Derek's own eyes.

* * *

Stiles' sound of affirmation goes right to Derek's dick. He knows what he wants to do. He knows what he wants to _see_. Because if they're out here in the dark it doesn't matter how loud they are. The thought had occurred to him the moment he'd made his request, and as Derek feels Stiles go back to it with a vengeance, he doesn't hold back a curse that he never would have let out before. He's not a vocal man in bed unless he can't help himself, and he's never been even half this loud before, with Stiles. He's not shouting, not howling, but his gasps aren't contained and his groans are low and rich. Given that Derek can scent Stiles' arousal growing by the minute, Stiles is appreciative of that fact.

Stiles _also_ isn't quiet. Derek basks in the sounds, pornographic as they are. Most people who've blown him have gone for skill and aplomb. Stiles is eager (and had apparently been a virgin before, fuck...) and his enthusiasm and lack of shame is ten times better than any skillful blowjobs that Derek's been given in the past. Because skill doesn't get him the glint of tears in Stiles' eyes, or the low, gagging sounds, or the slick, lewd sounds of spit and precome as Stiles fucking feasts on his dick. Derek's reasonably sure that this is the fantasy of most guys - finding someone so into blowing them - and he doesn't waste this moment. Stiles doesn't do this all the time and Derek intends to make the most of it.

So he thrusts carefully. He grips at Stiles' hair. He whispers curses and words that sound like praise even as they're broken off by groans. Every time Stiles' nails rake down his skin, Derek's voice lifts, or he hisses, and he knows that there's no way he'll ever be able to pretend that he doesn't like being scratched again. His cock throbs and aches, precome smearing over Stiles' tongue on every bob of his head, and Derek's hips begin to lose their rhythm. He grinds in instead, mindful of Stiles' humanity and the whole 'needing to breathe' thing, but he's single-minded in his desire to let go, and then to give back.

"Close," he warns, though for a different reason this time. 

And though Derek wants little more than to fuck deeper into the back of Stiles' mouth, teasing at his throat, he draws out enough to keep the head of his cock between Stiles' lips. Then he reaches down and quickly jerks what he can reach at the base of his cock, groaning low in his throat as the pleasure builds higher and higher and then it reaches the point of no return. 

Derek comes hotly over Stiles' tongue with a snarl, his eyes glinting red, locked onto Stiles, onto his eyes. The eye contact is honestly what does it, the connection, even thin. Derek's hips jerk but he's careful not to go too deep as he shakes and shudders and hisses sharply between his teeth, his cock throbbing and pulsing as orgasm washes over him.

And yet he's not so far gone that he forgets his _other_ want. He hasn't even finished when he breathlessly speaks up through the pleasure. 

"S-stand up once I'm done. Turn around and pull down your jeans and boxers, then... then lean over the hood of the car. Legs spread."

* * *

This is hot. This is so freakin' hot. Derek is vocal, louder than Stiles has ever heard him to date. Even over his own sounds - the slurping, the harsh breathing, the occasional gagging - Stiles can hear Derek react to the scratching, he can hear the occasional hissed curses and words of encouragement. And there's totally an added thrill of being out in public too. Stiles doesn't want to get caught, but that doesn't take away from the excitement. Plus, it's somewhere new for them. 

Stiles delights in this activity. He savors the feeling of Derek's fingers in his hair - the contact, the touch. Stiles doesn't fight if Derek thrusts in, he relaxes his throat as best he can and knows he's going to be a mess after this. The lower half of his face is wet with spit, his hair is in disarray, his lips feel swollen, but Stiles soldiers on. He throws himself into this, he gives it his all. And Stiles wishes that talking and saying everything that's on his mind was as easy as this because he's good at this.

 _They're_ good at this.

When the warning comes, Stiles moans his enthusiasm and he lets Derek do whatever is necessary. Stiles is compliant and lets Derek pull back a little and then stroke himself. Stiles sucks hard and he digs his nails into Derek's skin, his eyes flicking up and when Derek comes, there's the flash of beautiful crimson and Stiles shudders as Derek unloads into his mouth. Stiles holds himself still, he doesn't look away as Derek comes and he doesn't swallow.

It's weird for Derek to talk while in the midst of an orgasm, so Stiles' eyebrows pull in a little as he tries to focus on the instructions. And if those instructions don't get him aching and antsy, Stiles doesn't know what will. He doesn't dare move until Derek is drawing back and finished. Stiles has Derek's come in his mouth, bitter and hot. He hasn't forgotten the first instruction. 

He gets up shakily, Derek helping steady him and Stiles' heart is beating so quick as eager hands go to his jeans. He slowly turns around to face the car before slipping down his jeans and boxers to his ankles. The cooler night air has goosebumps raising up on his skin and being exposed and bare like this... it's really hot. Hotter than Stiles would have thought, at any rate. He shuffles somewhat awkwardly closer to the car and it's when Stiles leans over, his skin - and dick - touching the cool metal he jerks and almost spits out the come.

Thankfully he doesn't. Stiles makes a huff of a sound as he settles, his arms raised and crossed in front of him so he can rest his head on his forearms. Stiles spreads his legs as wide as he can given the restriction of the his clothes around his ankles. He then glances over his shoulder at Derek, one eyebrow lifting as if to say, 'now what?'. 

* * *

They're really fucking good at this. _Stiles_ is really good at this. He's always been enthusiastic to use his mouth and Derek's left shuddering and shaking in the aftermath, quietly, breathlessly amazed that Stiles can take it the way he can. His eyes remain red in the night as pleasure fades to a low buzzing under his skin, but there's an itch deep inside that hasn't quite been scratched, and he fully intends to do it as soon as he can. So he watches, breathing hard, as Stiles shakily moves to get his feet under him. His knees must be sore from kneeling on the ground and Derek should feel bad about it, but he doesn't. Instead he helps Stiles stand, then helps to steady him, and Derek's gaze burns in the dark as he watches Stiles do as he'd been told.

The sight of all that skin has Derek's mouth watering, his jaws aching, but he keeps those instincts in check. He watches, hungry for it, as Stiles strips his bottoms down and his dick - hard and clearly aching - makes its presence known. Stiles doesn't touch himself, doesn't linger. He just goes right to the hood of the Camaro and bends over it like he'd been instructed, and Derek aches when he watches Stiles jerk at the chill. He keeps that in mind, dizzy with how aroused Stiles smells, and before Stiles even turns around to face him, Derek is stepping in closer.

He crowds up against Stiles' bared ass, his softening dick pressing against warm skin. He leans over Stiles, his hands flattening to the hood on either side of Stiles' broader shoulders. Derek takes in the sight of him greedily, breathing in his scent, basking in it. Then finally, Derek blinks himself back into the present and lifts one hand to Stiles' mouth, his thumb trailing over his swollen lips. Derek swallows. 

"Spit it out into my hand," he growls lowly, because regardless of how much he kind of wants Stiles to keep it in his mouth, he knows it can't taste good. This is a decent compromise.

Only once Stiles has complied does Derek lean in and mouth at the back of his neck, much higher than he should be. He doesn't bite, but he does scrape his teeth over the skin with a low groan, because the mere thought of what he wants to do...

He always wears a condom. Always. Swallowing come doesn't really leave a lingering scent, but coming in Stiles' ass would. He wets his lips and draws back, coating one finger in his own come before he presses it carefully between Stiles' legs, rubbing the slick against his hole, into his heat. He'd never dare to fuck Stiles like this; he's not a damn heathen; lube isn't optional. But come is enough slick for one finger, and he intends to make the most of it. 

"I'm going to finger you open until you come all over yourself," Derek promises in a low growl, dipping the tip of his finger into Stiles' aching heat and then slowly, carefully beginning to press it in a little deeper. He hadn't gotten to do this last time, and _fuck_ if he doesn't like how it feels. 

* * *

Stiles doesn't even want to think how this looks. Half undressed, Derek's jizz in his mouth, legs spread and laid out over the hood of the Camaro? It sounds like some sleazy porn or something in which Derek would totally be the jock which makes Stiles the nerd. It's then Stiles wonders if Derek would ever be into roleplay. Should he get glasses and see? No. Now isn't the time to think about that shit.

And maybe it should worry Stiles how quick he is to obey Derek. He hadn't even asked what the plan was and now he can't as he has come in his mouth. Stiles could spit it out. Derek isn't going to force whatever on him. Derek already got off anyway so their routine dictates that it's Stiles' turn.

Does Derek have lube with him? Stiles can't even let his brain really ramp up with questions because Derek is coming in closer, his wet dick pressing against Stiles' skin and then Derek is leaning over him. Stiles can't help but enjoy the feel of being pressed into the car by Derek. But then it gets crazy-hot as Derek's thumb swipes over his slick lips and Derek gives the next order - which is to spit out Derek's come into his own hand. 

Holy shit. Stiles doesn't exactly know why it's hot, but it is, it reallllly is. And Stiles complies, spitting out Derek's come into the palm of Derek's waiting hand. Teeth then graze against the back of Stiles' neck and Stiles gasps before he swallows any residual jizz left in his mouth. Stiles closes his eyes, living for the anticipation of what is going to happen _next._ It becomes quickly evident when he feels a wet finger come to rub at his hole. 

It's spit and come. Derek's spit and come and the come had been in his mouth previously and wow, Stiles hadn't even heard Derek coat his finger.

Stiles takes in what he hopes to be a steadying breath but it's then Derek chooses to _speak_ and details what he plans to do and somehow it kind of sounds like a threat too. He then shudders as arousal punches into him and _fuckfuckfuck_ this is so unbelievably hot. Stiles is left panting as Derek's finger slowly presses in. There are still bruises on his body from the last time, but the ache is now gone. 

"I'll come- I'll come on your car too," Stiles warns in a hoarse voice. Somehow he doesn't think that Derek will care all that much and Stiles has no doubt that he'll be able to come like this.

* * *

Maybe his growl _is_ a sort of threat too, because it's easier to threaten than it is to coax. Derek looks down over the line of Stiles' body, his shirt rucked up slightly, his ass bared, long legs spread, and skin pale under the light of the moon. Derek can still see the residual bruises his own hips had made on Stiles' ass, though they've faded, and he finds himself wondering suddenly if Stiles' nipple is still bruised from Derek's bite. The urge rises stronger inside and he makes a mental note to find that out in a little while. Right now his focus is kind of diverted, as there's little he likes more than this feeling.

There's something impossibly hot about having his cock buried inside of Stiles' body, but there's something just as hot about fingering him open. Fingers and hands are the way you explore the world; touch is ingrained and Derek feels heat slide through him as he presses his finger slowly into Stiles' hole and feels the tightness of his body. 

He's hot and slick with Derek's come (and it doesn't matter that Derek's already come; it's still hot). Derek drinks in every moment that his finger sinks into Stiles' hole, feeling the impossibly tight grip of his muscles and the quiver in his body as Stiles finally understands what Derek intends. His eyes glint and Derek lets out a slow, almost-steadying breath as he presses in deeper, drinking in the sight of Stiles' body and the scent of his arousal, so sharp on the air.

"I'll wash it," Derek says, and while he knows he _should_ be concerned to have the scent of Stiles' come all over his Camaro, the thought is too hot to care about now. Derek carefully moves his finger deeper, drawing it back for small, careful thrusts. Much as he wants to just go for it, to fuck Stiles with his fingers, he wants something else more. 

Derek draws back three times to ensure that Stiles is properly slicked on the inside (the thought of his come - _his scent_ \- there makes something in Derek's chest want to howl). Then, when he's sure that Stiles can handle it, he steps in closer, placing his feet just inside of Stiles' stance so that he can't close his legs even if he tries. With his eyes glinting, Derek's finger finally curls down and it takes him only a second of searching to find Stiles' prostate. Derek sets his free hand high on Stiles' back to keep him pinned to the car and teases slowly, intending to build Stiles up to the point where Derek can go all out on it. 

* * *

The weird thing is, Stiles wants to come all over himself _and_ Derek's car. It's not as if he's some macho dude who likes to mark what's his. Stiles has never been into the whole jizz-all-over-someone-or-their-face thing. It's not that he wouldn't be all over _Derek_ doing that or vice versa, but he's pretty sure it's just because it's _Derek_ and Stiles has a hard time thinking of anything he wouldn't be down for trying with him.

Of course, Derek's answer is that he'll wash it off. Any traces of him doing something to Derek either heal or are washed and wiped away. The thought is unpleasant, but thankfully he's got a finger pushing into his ass to divert his attention. It's impossibly hotter to have Derek's finger working its way inside rather than his own. Stiles breathes deeply, trying to relax because he's been through this song and dance enough times to know that he can't allow himself to get too worked up early on and clench (which is always easier said than done).

Derek's finger pumps in slowly and Stiles is about to _helpfully_ remind Derek that he can go faster when Derek decides to go for some prostate-exploration instead. The pad of Derek's finger brushes inside _just right_ and Stiles is jerking with a gasp. It's then he realizes that Derek has stepped closer to him to box him in, that Derek's other hand is on his back holding him down and he's essentially pinned to the car's hood with his legs spread.

Oh, _fuck_. It's simultaneously arousing and worrying and Stiles shakes, closing his eyes as pleasure squirms through him. Stiles hasn't gotten off from _just_ being fingered before. And now they don't need to worry about being quiet. And they're outside. And it's Derek's come that's slicking him up. 

"Not-not gonna scream," Stiles blurts out, just to be pest.

* * *

On the surface, maybe Derek is doing this because he can. Because Stiles is reactive and hot and Derek knows that Stiles will let him get away with pretty much anything. But _under_ the surface, the real reason is more complicated. Stiles had dropped to his knees, his scent twisted and soured with hesitation and something specifically upset. His mouth had felt fucking amazing, but Derek's no idiot. It had been an apology. One Stiles hadn't ever _needed_ to give. So in a sense, maybe this is Derek's version too. An apology, an attempt to only focus on Stiles' pleasure, as well as a bolt of curiosity because he's fairly certain that Stiles _can_ do this.

On more than one occasion, Stiles' reactions to being fingered have been loud as fuck. Derek's never been able to risk it the way he wants. Stiles is _sensitive_ , and Derek's been pretty damn sure that Stiles could potentially come just from this for awhile, but there's never been enough time, and they've always needed to be quiet.

Derek's had partners get off like this before, and it's as much a mindset as it is something physical. It's intense. Stiles knowing he'd need to be quiet would take him out of the moment, would throw him into his head too much. But like this, with nothing but the air and sky and forest around them, and Derek keeping watch, then maybe... _just_ maybe, Stiles can let go. So he presses in with his finger and the first touch to Stiles' prostate has him jerking and gasping, and Derek swallows back arousal that wants to flood him again. God, he loves it when Stiles is so reactive. Still, he doesn't push, doesn't rush, doesn't just hammer the guy into losing it. Derek's not a fucking heathen; he _can_ do a slower build up.

So he holds Stiles down, his fingers pressing and moving in a subtle little massage between Stiles' shoulders to keep him from cramping. He can feel Stiles shaking, can scent the spike in his arousal, and Derek wets his lips as he slowly rubs and teases, building Stiles up slowly.

Stiles' interjection draws a small snort from Derek, who moves his hand down to give Stiles a quick, light swat on his ass before moving his hand back between Stiles' shoulder-blades. 

"You sure about that? Now that you have the chance? Pretty sure I could make you." Derek presses just a little firmer, feeling the tightening clench and shake of Stiles' muscles that he then soothes by rubbing slowly at his back. 

"Could make you beg for it if I wanted to. Or I could make you cry. But you like it when I do that." Derek's voice is low, his touch careful. He rubs just a little quicker, not letting Stiles squirm away or get any relief. 

* * *

Bickering. Bantering. Challenging. It's what they do. It's what _Stiles_ does well and Derek is used to it by now. Derek has been dealing with him for years anyway. It's really the only way Stiles can take back some control right now. Derek has him pinned, his legs spread and his cock is pressed into the warming metal of the Camaro. Stiles' head is still resting on his crossed forearms and his fists are clenched because Derek's finger is curling slowly but insistently inside of him. 

And Stiles doesn't necessarily _want_ to be this reactive, he's just an expressive guy in general (or at least that's what he tells himself). And the prostate stimulation is _still_ new, okay. It's still kinda weird. Mostly super sensitive, but Stiles is still aroused, his dick hard and the urge to get off only climbing higher.

The light spank that comes to his ass has Stiles snickering because playful gestures like that are familiar and fun. But then Derek talks and fuuuuck, Derek _making_ him is hot (just like Derek had made him loud enough that he'd needed his mouth to be covered). Derek's finger presses in and Stiles huffs, trying to calm down and mentally prepare for this undertaking. Derek speaks up again and it easily pulls out a moan. Begging... Crying. (Fuck, right, Derek had seen him tear up. Stiles had been hoping Derek forgot it, but nope.) 

"Sa--" The word is almost out. Sadist. It's only two syllables but then Derek's finger moves quicker and Stiles clenches as bursts of sensitive pleasure shoot through him and Stiles cries out as he shudders, precome smearing against the hood. He then tries to just fuck himself back on Derek's finger because the fuck-motion is A) hot and B) easier to take than what Derek is _currently_ doing, but Derek's hold on him pretty much prevents it. 

"Fucker," Stiles curses. "You're - ah - a fucking sadist." He blinks rapidly trying to ground himself but that feels pretty much impossible right now as pleasure that is somehow difficult to take curls through him. 

* * *

Derek's gaze darkens slightly in arousal that he doesn't really give any thought to. He finds Stiles arousing even without feeling it physically, and hearing the cry he lets out? That's more than worth the curse and the way Stiles calls him a sadist. Honestly Derek really can't say otherwise right now. He feels like one, but he's not really causing Stiles pain, just an abundance of sensation. He wets his lips as he watches, his wrist positioned a little awkwardly but that's not even an issue right now. Derek just watches raptly as Stiles tries to squirm, tries to move, but Derek's hold on him keeps him still. This _is_ an apology, yes, but it's also Derek directing this. He's wanted to do this to Stiles for awhile, and he knows how intense it will be when it happens. 

Is intense a smart goal to aim for? No. No, _intense_ is too close to _emotional_ , but Derek isn't letting himself think about that. Instead he's thinking about the way Stiles' hole keeps clenching around his finger, and about how badly he wants to see him fall apart. 

Derek hums to show he's heard, but he doesn't draw back or relent. Instead he twists his wrist to get a better angle and presses his finger just a little deeper to be able to touch and rub at Stiles' prostate with more precision. He still works him up slowly, teasing one moment and then pressing and rubbing slowly the next. But when he thinks that Stiles' breathing is at a level where Derek can actually go for it, he presses his hand a little harder to Stiles' back to keep him there. Then he growls low in his throat and forces Stiles' legs just a fraction of an inch wider. Just to show that he can. 

"Maybe," Derek murmurs. "But you like it. I can smell how aroused you are. I can smell you dripping. You're so sensitive here. Been thinking about doing this for awhile, but I didn't want you to wake up your dad."

Derek braces his hand then and presses down harder on Stiles' prostate, nudging at it and circling around it with his finger, then pressing down and rubbing firmly. He knows Stiles can come like this if he lets himself, if he feels it enough. So Derek strokes his free hand slowly up and down Stiles' back, almost soothing as he watches intently.

* * *

He may call Derek a sadist, but Stiles doesn't really _mean_ it. Derek isn't actively hurting him. There's the grip on his back, there's Derek crowding into him and pinning his legs still, but it's nothing Stiles isn't enjoying. Stiles is completely at Derek's mercy - at least physically (and he isn't actually afraid of Derek hurting him). 

Stiles knows Derek is watching him. Derek's confusing hazel eyes are glued to him, seeing every twitch and shake, hearing every hitched breath and groan. Derek has him pinned and is fingering him. Out in the open, against the car and Stiles feels so fucking _wired_. He's obviously aroused, but it's a twisting, jolting kind that leaves him almost dazed and antsy.

Stiles can still taste Derek's come in his mouth, but it's an afterthought. Derek doesn't even see fit to answer him, humming to indicate he's heard but then moving his finger, changing the angle and causing him to hiss out a curse. Derek presses on and Stiles tries to remain as composed as he can manage. He breathes harshly and shudders when Derek pushes him down harder and forces his legs apart just a little more. Then Derek speaks and there's a real part of Stiles that thinks the words _dripping_ and _sensitive_ applied to a dude should offend him, but right now they really don't.

And it hits Stiles then that they may never have this chance again. It's the chance for them both to let loose and not have to worry about a sleeping parent. Stiles decides to go for it. He doesn't want to hold himself back, not with Derek, not now. Derek is ruthless in his teasing and Stiles lets himself be louder, he moans and squirms and feels sweaty and worked up and helpless and it's all a very complex feeling.

"Fuck, Derek--" Apparently it's difficult to speak. "Fuck me, please, just fuck me." What it feels like is shivers of precise pleasure that make Stiles wiggle and clench and both want more and less of. Stiles whines and tries to hump back on Derek's finger to change the sensation.

* * *

There exists a moment when things suddenly change, and Derek doesn't know how or why it had happened, but it catches him off guard. He isn't expecting the way Stiles' voice gets louder, or the way he starts to squirm a little more, moaning and clearly getting into this more than he had been. Derek just watches, his eyes widening slightly and he almost slows down to appreciate what he's seeing, but the desire to hear more, to make Stiles feel _better_ is too strong. He fights back the urge to blink his eyes red and instead he breathes long and low, listening to each clear moan and feeling the shift of muscles in each of Stiles' squirms.

He's desperate. Derek isn't surprised. This isn't exactly the kindest thing he's done to Stiles, but it also isn't the cruelest. Besides, Derek knows that Stiles does like to be fingered open, he just needs an outlet or a distraction because he's _really_ damn sensitive. The sight alone has Derek's spent dick aching and it really wouldn't take long to get him hard again if he let himself. But the last time they'd almost gone again hadn't really ended well. So he ignores it for now.

Stiles is much more appealing anyway. His voice finally breaks on a curse and then he's begging, his voice weak and a little slurred, and Derek _wants_ to fuck him. He wants to bite and lick and suck, and he wants to see Stiles fall apart and feel _good_. So for a moment he does let Stiles hump back, does let him get a slightly varied sensation to take the edge of sensitivity away. Derek shallowly fucks him with his finger, wiggling it, giving Stiles' body time to recover. 

"Have you ever come like this before?" Derek asks, knowing the answer. "I know you can. I wouldn't ask you to do something that'd hurt you." 

Not permanently, anyway. Derek lets Stiles enjoy the brief respite but the second he decides that Stiles has had enough, Derek presses his finger back in deep, then curls it and pulls it back until he finds that little gland again. This time he doesn't ease back into it, rubbing around the edges and then firmly against it, growling low. He can practically smell Stiles' precome like this, and Derek fully intends to force an orgasm out of him if he needs to. 

* * *

Stiles doesn't know if he's over-sensitive or if the prostate thing is just weird in general for dudes. This isn't something he can go quiz people on and some Google searches are just too potentially scary to undertake. Stiles knows he's sensitive, but he doesn't know how he exactly ranks in comparison with _others._ And Stiles purposefully hasn't asked about Derek's former partners. Derek knew how to have gay sex, so he'd obviously been experienced, but even now Stiles worries if Derek would rather be with a girl. Maybe if he was a girl, Derek wouldn't mind dating him? 

For now, Stiles begs and tries to push back because he feels so fucking edgy and weird and mercifully, Derek allows it. Stiles is pretty sure Derek wants him to come, but he doesn't know why he's drawing this out. Stiles is kinda used to just going for it. If Derek gets off first, it's only common courtesy to try and get off quickly. Time had always been an issue for them. They don't need to rush _now,_ but Stiles doesn't know why they wouldn't? Derek's finger pumps in and out, not too deep, but it's a break nonetheless and Stiles groans in relief.

He feels so incredibly buzzed. Stiles is trying to remember if Derek had specifically told him to _not_ touch himself. He remembers being told to lean over the car but as he is now, Stiles doesn't think he could really get a hand down in between, but maybe--

The question distracts Stiles from his plotting. It's one of those rhetorical questions. Now that Derek knows he'd been a virgin (and whenever he fingers himself open he goes for practical and efficient), so it's obvious Stiles hasn't done this to the point of an orgasm. But Derek believes that he can, apparently. It's a small concession, but that thought gets obliterated when Derek returns to his task and is more ruthless than ever.

Stiles jerks and gasps. He shudders and tries to squirm away because the sensitivity is almost nearing uncomfortable proportions. His dick is rock hard and he's wired with antsy pleasure as his arms shoot up to try and pull himself away from Derek's fingers but he can't get any grip on the Camaro's hood. It's futile. Derek's grip is ironclad.

"Fuck, fuck-- too much," Stiles moans as his nails scratch at the car. He feels wetness sting at his eyes and Stiles is more incredulous than anything that it's happening. Derek's finger is relentless, it rubs and coaxes and it has Stiles struggling between arching into it and trying (in vain) to pull away. 

"I can't... Can't--" His voice is getting louder, desperation and arousal evident. And it's when Stiles' is trying to admit that he doesn't think he _can_ come, that he does. 

He's loud and unabashed as he orgasms. Stiles shakes and jizzes all over himself and the Camaro as his hole twitches around Derek's finger.

* * *

It's probably not fair to just push for this but Derek needs a win. As stupid as it sounds, after seeing Stiles so upset and not knowing _why_ (though now Derek knows that Stiles feeling useless seems to be connected) he'd just needed to do something back. Needed to make Stiles feel _good_. Needed to see him shake and shudder and give him something intense and special to fly high on. Derek can't do much for him. He can't take Stiles out for coffee or ask him what his favorite movie is. He can't call him or wave him over in public. He can't hold his hand, or even touch him casually unless it's with some sort of reprimand at hand.

But he _can_ do this. He can push and shove and coax. He can press down on Stiles' back to keep him in place as sensitivity sparks like electricity under his skin. He can hook his fingers around Stiles' shoulder and pull back to keep him from squirming away or trying to escape. He can breathe in and scent exactly what makes Stiles' cock leak more precome, can feel the twitches of his muscles as pleasure ebbs and spikes sharply again. He can tell what Stiles can take, and this is something he _can_ give. Maybe he can't fuck Stiles right now, but he can wipe all the bad from the last hour from his memories, can blow his mind, even if it's just like this.

So he does. He doesn't relent when Stiles squirms, and he doesn't stop giving him exactly what he needs. He doesn't stop when Stiles hisses that it's too much (he can hear Stiles' pulse, and while he does believe it, it still registers as enough of a lie for Derek to ignore). He doesn't stop when blunt human nails scratch at his car (though he does wince), and he _definitely_ doesn't stop when Stiles' voice gets louder and louder and he feels the first deep, pulsing twitches around his finger that tell Derek that Stiles is close. So he continues; he doesn't change a damn thing, and when Stiles finally does come, he almost screams with it. 

Derek lets up only a little then, coaxing, rubbing slower as Stiles' muscles flutter and twitch and clench around him. Derek's growl is deep in his throat and he finally leans down over Stiles, breathing him in deeply. He smells the spread of come, smells the endorphin and chemicals, smells sweat and need and the salt of tears, and Derek knows that if he had lube with him, he'd already have pressed for more. But he doesn't. 

So he coaxes Stiles through every second with loose, open-mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck. His voice is nearly a growl when he finds it, murmuring soft words of encouragement. He tells Stiles that he's good, that he's got him, that he looks hot. He doesn't say too much, but he doesn't have to. He just rubs until he's pretty damn sure he's coaxed out every drop of come. Only then does he slowly slide his finger back out, letting Stiles shudder and twitch in the aftershocks with Derek's lips at his nape. 

* * *

Stiles is still surprised that he has come like this. Just one finger up his ass, spit and jizz as lube, his prostate ruthlessly rubbed, his dick trapped against the car's hood and Derek holding him firmly. He's living a porno. After years in the desert suffering with no sex, he's finally blessed with Derek. 

Yeah, it's stupidly hot and he's stupidly loud (like Derek needs the damn ego boost). It really can't be helped. Stiles gives in to the pleasure that wracks his body and Derek doesn't stop his actions, although he rubs slower. Stiles shakes and blinks past the wetness in his eyes, wanting it to clear up.

But then Derek is closer, laying over him, Stiles pressed more firmly against the car, his come smearing helplessly on him and the metal. He feels both winded and wired, exhausted and energized, and his orgasm lasts longer than it normally does. Weak and blissed out, he drinks up Derek's murmured words. The praise and attention might be the best part of the night (and that isn't something he'd ever admit aloud).

Stiles closes his eyes when he feels Derek's mouth at the back of his neck. He presses his neck into Derek's lips, encouraging with a small moan. The temperature has cooled around them, but Derek is so close that Stiles is practically shielded by him. Stiles is a mess of sweat and come and when Derek's finger slowly pulls out, he sighs. 

"Gonna miss this if I move," Stiles comments without thought as he reaches and scratches at the back of Derek's head.

* * *

In the back of his mind, Derek knows he's going to have to clean his car before any of his betas find it. The scent of the both of them won't be damning, but the scent of sweat and sex? Derek doesn't want to have to field the questions. He's not ashamed, but he doesn't know how he'd think about answering if someone asked him what Stiles was to him. Or worse, asked Stiles what Derek was to _him_. 

So he doesn't think about it. He shields Stiles' body from the faint breeze and the chill. He knows he runs hot, and Derek can take these seconds of Stiles being all blissed-out to indulge a little. Given Stiles' soft moans and the press of his nape against Derek's lips, Derek knows he likes it. It calms something instinctual in Derek's chest, makes him think words like _protecting_ and _providing_. What's worse is that the thoughts aren't in jest. Derek hates his instincts sometimes, especially when they're telling him to just give in and indulge more. This is as close as he dares. So he basks in it while he can, and when Stiles' fingers reach back to curl into his hair, Derek almost relaxes. 

Then the words register and Derek draws back sharply, like Stiles has just taken a taser to him. He doesn't leap back, but he does lift himself up. Stiles' fingers are still in his hair, but given the angle, it's likely not comfortable, but Derek's focus isn't on comfort or how abrupt his reaction had probably registered as. Instead he looks down at Stiles with narrowed eyes, suspicion and a small thread of something that feels vaguely like panic bleeding into his chest. 

"If you move?" Derek asks, and while he wants to sound curious, it comes out as more accusatory than anything. He swallows it back as best as he can, but talk about a mood killer. "What do you mean 'If I _move'_? You're moving?"

* * *

Stiles is thoroughly enjoying this moment. He's sated, Derek is close and pretty much holding him. It's not quite cuddling, but he'll take it. It's what works in this position anyway. Stiles doesn't quite feel boneless, but there is a haze of exhaustion settling over him and it's this current blissed-out state that has him not thinking as he mentions the possibility of moving. 

And he's not expecting anything problematic as he says it. Like the time in his bedroom,an orgasm loosens Stiles' lips. It feels easier to open his mouth and let whatever's popping up in his mind to then pop out. And it's not like Stiles had been purposefully trying to keep it a secret. It's like the whole virgin thing (and Stiles had honestly assumed it was common knowledge amidst all of the pack).

But he's surprised Derek because Derek pulls away and as Stiles' hand had been scritch-scratching Derek's head, it's awkward. Stiles looks over his shoulder, confusion evident on his features as Derek stares down at him not looking pleased. As Derek asks for clarification, Stiles pulls his hand away and wipes at his face. 

"For school?" Stiles offers. "I've applied at a bunch of schools, some further away than others." He gives a little shrug. "I'll of course visit if I do move away, and I'm sure you won't have a difficult time finding someone to fill my position, right?" 

Even as he says it, Stiles doesn't like hearing it. He doesn't want to be just a convenient booty call and he doesn't want to be replaceable in _any_ capacity.

* * *

Moving. Stiles is moving. Might move, whatever, but _moving_. The earlier thread of panic that Derek had felt bubbling up inside of him threatens to get even bigger and it takes almost all of his control to fight down the urge to lash out. As he looks down at Stiles and watches as Stiles looks back at him, confusion evident in his eyes, whatever haze of satisfaction that he'd felt is whisked away faster than pretty much anything. He struggles to keep his expression impassive, and Derek knows he's failing when he feels the pinch to his brow. Panic bleeds into him, quickening his pulse, because this is the first he's hearing of this. Had Stiles told the rest of the pack, or is Derek the last one to know? Wouldn't be the first time, apparently.

Going away for school makes sense. The idea of Stiles still visiting _does_ calm some of the panic, but not all of it. It's not enough. Stiles moving far enough away that he won't be able to visit often? Stiles not being around? His place on the deck absent during training? Derek's jaw clenches tighter and tighter as he struggles to control himself. But it isn't until Stiles says that Derek will be able to find someone to fill his position that Derek reels back like someone's up and slapped him.

"You're not expendable!" Derek snaps, and his voice is a snarl even though he doesn't mean it to be. It's not completely what Derek means, but it's the only thing that rushes to mind. Derek's pulse is beating quicker, and the mood he'd managed to create is just... gone. He pulls away from Stiles completely and swallows, then nods at the Camaro. 

"Just-- ... get in. We're done here. Thanks for telling me," he adds, but it seems almost forced out (mostly because it is.)

Derek steps around Stiles before he can answer and he gets in the car without looking back. His mind is whirling, and it's probably rude as Hell to leave Stiles to pull his jeans back up, particularly with Derek's come still inside of him. But Derek doesn't hesitate. He makes himself look presentable, then turns the car on. 

He doesn't say a damn thing until he's parked a few houses down from Stiles', as he always is. Then he reaches across Stiles and opens the door. He doesn't look at him. 

"Training," is all he says as a reminder, though suddenly the thought of warning Stiles away from it feels like absolute shit. He just closes off, turns away, and when Stiles _does_ leave that evening, Derek takes time to run his car through a car wash, then goes back to the Preserve. He runs until his legs feel like they're breaking, and when he falls into bed later that night after a shower, he's too tired to think. 

* * *

Is this another blunder? Fuck. Stiles hadn't meant it to be one, he really hadn't. Apparently he needs to just tape his mouth shut after he gets off. Had it been this difficult to talk and deal with Derek _before_ they started messing around? Stiles doesn't know. Derek has always been kinda hit-or-miss at times and Stiles knows he can be a handful, but looking back at Derek and seeing him look so displeased has Stiles feeling--

(Confused? Hopeful? Worried? All of the above?)

While Stiles would like to believe that he hadn't intentionally _not_ mentioned it to Derek, he knows there'd been a part of him hesitant to bring up the possibility of moving away. When Stiles says he's replaceable, he is only referring to the sex part of their friendship. Stiles doesn't think just anyone could replace him in the pack meetings or anything like that. It takes skill to be able to navigate Derek's pack. Each of them have their own idiosyncrasies, after all.

Derek snaps at him and Stiles swallows nervously. He's honestly dumbfounded how he's managed to fuck up twice in one night. Then Derek is backing up and saying that it's time to go. Stiles straightens, no smart alec reply given. He feels cold without Derek's warmth and he's disappointed how the evening has turned out. The high of orgasm seems so far away now and almost empty as Derek leaves to get back into the car.

With hands that aren't too shaky, Stiles pulls up his boxers and jeans and grabs his hoodie from the ground. It's uncomfortable to feel the stick of drying semen to his clothes but it can't be helped. He purposefully doesn't look at the hood and he doesn't say anything on the ride home.


	4. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is... he's still on edge. Frustration and anger build higher, and Derek's focusing on grabbing at his control again. If he can just get a handle on it, it won't be so bad. So just--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! :D The end is in sight now, yeee. And it's a fluffy lovely end, at that.
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

Training happens out in a clearing in the preserve. It's mostly Derek fighting with the Betas, getting them to attack him and then critiquing their form, but sometime it's suggestions and talking. By far Derek and Scott have the most experience fighting, but it's easy for any one of the wolves to get hot headed. Usually it's Jackson or Erica lipping off, but while watching today, Stiles can see that it's actually _Derek_ who's taking the cake. Derek seems to be grumpier than usual.

Stiles usually watches them all and takes notes on his phone, looking for patterns or weaknesses that he can bring up (which doesn't always go well when he gives his report, but it's a necessary evil). Derek has just called for a five minute break when the pack splits off into their own little groups to complain or goof off. It's then that Stiles decides to approach Derek and talk. He doesn't exactly know what he's going to say, but he needs to try something. It doesn't feel good to have this awkward thing between them.

Stiles walks lightly, coming up behind Derek and poking him in the shoulder.

"Hey."

* * *

Derek doesn't let himself think about it. And of course, by that, it means that he forcibly shuts down everything outside of his own little world. He sleeps, he eats, and when Peter tries to dig at him in passing, Derek's jaw only clenches tighter. He doesn't even throw Peter across the room for it; he makes a mental note to save it for training and just goes to isolate himself. No one really gets what's wrong but he doesn't care. He's not about to let it get to him. He's _not_.

He does.

So when training comes around the next day, Derek _maybe_ pushes it a little too hard. Normally he'll toss his Betas around a little bit, but he never uses his claws, and he never _actually_ injures them anymore. He'll throw Erica a good twenty feet onto her back and wind her, but she'll be right back up a few seconds later, looking for an opening. The last thing that Derek wants is for the pack to be caught off guard again, for them to be left untrained and haphazard. So he pushes them. He butts heads with Jackson and Peter, and he leaves most of the encouragement to Scott and Stiles, who have their own methods.

But that isn't what's happening now. _Now_ is different, and as Isaac comes at him from behind on swift, silent feet, Derek whirls on him and catches a split second of surprise before Isaac goes flying. He lands hard a few yards off, cursing, his teeth gritted, and Derek snaps at him to watch the leaves at his feet while he's trying to stealth up on someone. Erica meets the same fate when she tries to jump on him from a tree, but it takes her a long few seconds to catch her breath when Derek slams her into the ground.

He thinks nothing of it at first, but when he notices that his Betas seem more reluctant to try, it only pisses him off more. Jackson mouths off, and when even Peter criticizes him for being too rough, Derek snarls and calls for a break. He turns away, not wanting to see Scott's frown of disapproval, or Isaac picking himself up off of the ground.

The thing is... he's still on edge. Frustration and anger build higher, and Derek's focusing on grabbing at his control again. If he can just get a handle on it, it won't be so bad. So just--

A finger touches him, and Derek jerks. His first thought is _Peter_ and he's already whirling to snarl at him when he realizes that he's _also_ sweeping a hand out. Catching his uncle across the chest would have left him winded and complaining.

But it's not Peter.

Derek hears Isaac's sharper gasp as if from a distance as his world narrows in on just one point. Stiles. Derek watches in a shocked horror as the kid's feet leave the ground from the force of the blow, and when Stiles lands, it's with an awkward _crunch_ that makes him flinch. He's got a second to stare, horrified, and then Peter's voice chimes in with a sharp,

" _Derek!"_ and he's moving.

It's Erica who actually gets there first, though Isaac is a close second. Derek shoves them both away with a growl, then gingerly reaches out, his brow pinched as he lays a hand on Stiles' side.

"Stiles? Shit, Stiles, are you okay?"

* * *

 

Stiles knows to not approach any of the pack while they're training. He's a good boy and stays away and observes the sport of werewolf on werewolf. The thing is, this is a five minute break so Stiles thinks nothing of wandering over to Derek. It's something he usually does anyway. As he can see the bigger picture being a spectator, he often checks in with Derek and even suggests things. It's totally not because he's worried about how weird things have been between them.

Normally he doesn't have a chance in hell in surprising Derek, but this time he somehow manages it because Derek actually _retaliates_. For a horrible moment Stiles thinks it's because Derek is aggravated by him, but as he goes flying through the air, Stiles is pretty sure that Derek had thought it was a werewolf and not him because even if Derek does lash out, he's always careful of not going too far.

And this is a little far.

His life doesn't flash before his eyes. Stiles doubts he looks very cool as he yelps. And he definitely doesn't look or feel cool as he lands on his shoulder and feels a sharp pain shoot through him. He's not quite winded, but he's stunned as he blinks his eyes and tries to process what just happened. Stiles looks up and sees long curly blonde hair and a line of appealing cleavage before Isaac's worried face comes into focus. Stiles is wincing but trying his best to sit up but it's not going well because his right shoulder is apparently fucked and--

Then Derek touches his other shoulder and Stiles notices _everyone_ crowding around him and looking down at him. Stiles mostly feels like an idiot. Maybe even mortified. He doesn't like seeing their worried faces (and Jackson's unimpressed one).

"I'm totally fine," Stiles grits out and finally manages to sit up without using his right arm. He knows he's not. Or well, his shoulder and bruised ego definitely aren't.

"What were you thinking, you asshole!" Stiles glances in the direction of Scott's voice and he sees his best friend now looking pissed at Derek. Stiles is opening his mouth to try and diffuse the situation when Scott just continues on. "You can't just fling him like a ragdoll. He's not like us."

* * *

 

Derek knows this is bad. It's bad for many of the reasons the others probably think it is, but for him, it goes one step beyond. There's a snarling, feral creature in his chest that's threatening to bleed his eyes red and tear him apart from the inside out, and it's worse because it's still technically _him_. Instinct bubbles up like boiling water within him, scalding through his body, and it doesn't matter that Stiles can apparently prop himself up a little bit, or that he grits out that he's fine. Derek doesn't need to be an Alpha - fuck, he doesn't need to be a _wolf_ \- to know it's a lie.

He hears Stiles' pulse skip and jitter anyway, and hearing the confirmation just makes something twist harder in his chest. Anger rises, but not even Derek is far gone enough to snap at Stiles for getting too close. Luckily for him, Scott deftly takes up that mantle for him.

Derek's expression pinches and darkens as Scott just about screams at him, and the worst of it is that Derek knows he's right. It doesn't make the anger any less, doesn't make him feel any more ashamed than he already does. He just bristles in silence as he quickly looks Stiles over, monitoring him for what's _wrong._ It doesn't take him long to see the awkward way Stiles is favoring his shoulder, though, and Derek's stomach sinks. Had he broken something? _Fuck_.

Scott's voice is like a mosquito in his ear, and Derek's very tempted to just swat it away. He doesn't. He can see Isaac's hesitant look and Erica's worry in his peripheral vision. Scott's right, much as hates to admit it. Still...

"I didn't _mean_ to," Derek defends, his tone clipped, but he doesn't look away from Stiles. "You think I'd throw his ass that hard if I _knew_ it was him?"

"You've been going pretty rough today," Isaac says, and Derek shoots him a quick glare. That Isaac's expression doesn't change says enough. "I'm just saying."

"Well _don't_."

"Charming as I'm sure this little game of 'who's to blame' _is_ , might I suggest Stiles go to, I don't know, _a hospital?_ " Peter's voice is dripping in sarcasm. "Just a thought."

Derek turns around and shoots his uncle a glare, but Peter's right too. Derek reaches out and gingerly tucks an arm in around Stiles' shoulder - his good one - and then shifts around.

"I'll take him. _I'm_ the one with a car," he adds, glaring at Scott before he can cut in and protest. "Someone drive his Jeep back to his house." Derek fishes Stiles' keys from his pocket and tosses them into the clearing. Then he reaches down and hooks his free arm under Stiles' knees. With a soft command to brace his shoulder with his other hand, Derek lifts Stiles up off of the ground, brokering no argument from the rest of the pack.

He makes a beeline right for his car, expression set, his earlier anger replaced by cold worry as he opens the passenger's door to the Camaro and then gingerly sets Stiles inside. Derek gets in soon after him and before anyone can protest, Derek starts the car and pulls out.

"How bad is it?" He asks, only when they're clear of the preserve.

* * *

 

This. This sucks. Right now. Stiles really doesn't want anyone - especially his friends - fighting over him being a delicate little human. Normally he'd just talk louder than them or make an annoying sound to interrupt them, but Stiles is honestly shaken up. Yeah, he knows how strong and dangerous supernatural creatures like werewolves can be. He's had a few close calls with other wolves wanting to make Stiles-stew, after all.

So Stiles says he's fine because he _wants_ to be fine. He's well aware of the fact that he's _just_ a human and he's not going to magically heal and bounce back. He needs to speak up and fix this awkward situation, but Stiles really doesn't like the reminder of how dangerous Derek can be _to him._ It kinda has him at a loss. Before Stiles had pretty much gotten off on the danger Derek presented it - it had been a thrill... Now, though? Now he doesn't know.

Stiles sits on the dirt, pain throbbing in his shoulder and radiating down his arm. He catches that Derek hadn't known it was him. That's good at least. A positive. But the whole Derek going rough thing… Derek could be off from their last night out together and then this is would be Stiles' fault, or at least he'd have a part in it.

When Peter speaks up, Stiles is actually relieved. Getting out of here and getting patched up sounds great. Maybe some pain meds too. Stiles is trying to gear himself up for standing when it becomes obvious that _Derek_ is going to Prince Charming lift him. Lovely. Goodbye, masculinity! Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs, waving goodbye at the pack as Derek takes off.

"I expect chocolate and flowers!" Stiles calls out. A joke will be good for them.

When he gets deposited into the Camaro, what they did last time is far from his mind. Stiles struggles with the seatbelt as Derek books it. Stiles feels clammy and shaky but he holds it together. He has no plans on losing it in front of Derek.

"I'll be fine, sheesh," Stiles says, trying for lighthearted but there's an obvious note of tension in his voice. "It's probably just dislocated."

That's Stiles' hope at least.

* * *

 

Stiles' pain is clearly obvious as Derek carries him back to the car. It's even more obvious when he gets Stiles in the car. Derek doesn't need to be a wolf to hear the pain in Stiles' voice. And he doesn't need to be a damn Alpha to scent the cold sweat rolling off of Stiles in waves. The pain has to be practically blinding him by this point but Derek doesn't know what to do. Well... He does. But he doesn't know if he should... Had Scott told Stiles anything about what that means?

Derek realizes a second later that it doesn't fucking matter. He helps Stiles get his seatbelt buckled and then he reaches a hand over once they're on the main road.

"I'm sorry," Derek says as soon as his throat loosens enough for the words to come out. He touches Stiles' good arm and grips it gently, drawing out just a little of his pain. Black crawls up Derek's forearm, rising up all the way to his throat.

"I'd take more but I don't know what they'll give you at the hospital. I'll pay. This... this wasn't on you."

He sounds pained and he knows it. Derek's jaw is tight as he stares straight ahead, breaking more than a few speed limits as he books it in the direction of the hospital.

"Do you want me to call your dad?"

* * *

 

Stiles is really getting tired of awkward rides in the Camaro with Derek. Couldn't this have happened next week? Can't he catch a break? Have a little breather from the goddamn drama of it all? God, it's like he's a teenager still. He's eighteen, aren't the stupid mistakes and angst supposed to dwindle down? Hasn't he dealt with enough!? No, apparently not. (Although Derek has been an adult longer than him and his life has still sucked a big one...)

Derek helps him with the seatbelt and already Stiles is envisioning how shitty this will be for him after treatment. He's going to probably need a sling contraption of sort and need to limit the use of his arm so he'll practically be an invalid. Great. He can already see the pack going overboard in "helping" him just to be trolls. (It's not the worst thought. He's honestly worried about how Derek is going to take this. Derek loves basking in guilt after all....)

Honestly worrying about the annoying aspects of this problem feel safer than the alternative. The alternative is Derek apologizing and sounding miserable but then touching him. And then doing the Jesus miracle touch and easing his pain. Stiles exhales louder, feeling almost lighter.

"Thanks, but we're not peasants, we do have insurance," Stiles says, but he's not offended by the offer. He's not even in the mood to crack a joke about the Jesus hands either. "And definitely not calling him, he has enough to worry about."

One perk of being an adult is that no one can force him to call his dad at the hospital. It's not pretty or fun to get his shoulder popped into place (especially with Derek looming), but he can't leave it dislocated. Stiles chats and does what he does best in concocting a story of a failed stunt attempt. He's fitted with a sling that he's told to wear for at least two weeks and he gets a prescription for pain meds. Afterward, they meet up with Scott who has his Jeep and takes him home, also helping with the storytelling to his dad.

It's hours later when he's popped a pill and trying to undress himself for bed. It's not going well. Stiles wants his jeans and socks to come off; it had taken too much time to take his shirt off. The pill must be kicking in. It's not supposed to be this difficult to undo a fly with your non-dominant hand. At least it shouldn't be.

* * *

 

Derek doesn't call the sheriff, though he doesn't feel good about it as Stiles goes through the process in the hospital. Derek isn't supposed to be there, but when one of the nurses suggests that he leaves them to treat Stiles on their own, his glare shuts her up pretty fast. He's still asked to step back, which he does, and the more he stands there and watches as Stiles' shoulder is pulled back into place, and the more he needs to smell the harsh bite of chemicals and the upsetting scent of Stiles' pain, Derek almost wishes he'd let the nurses urge him out. He still doesn't go.

He watches as Stiles is fitted with his sling, and he lingers in the area until Scott comes with the Jeep and takes Stiles home. Derek doesn't miss the looks he's given and he honestly can't blame Scott for them. He glares back, but it's half-hearted at best. Derek knows he'd fucked up, and even as he makes his way back to his loft, he can't shake what had happened.

Isaac and Erica and Boyd and Peter are all there, much to Derek's surprise, and while Erica is the one to demand updates, Derek notices the tightness to Boyd's eyes and Isaac's pinched brow. Peter doesn't _look_ worried, but he does linger, which he supposes means something. He gruffly fills them in, then watches as Isaac pulls out his phone to let Jackson and Lydia know. Derek watches quietly, and it strikes him then that even though not everyone shows it, the pack _rely_ on Stiles, human or not.

Hours later, after the others have gone home and Peter had taken Derek aside to unsubtly attempt to get information out of him, Derek's feeling like shit. His instincts feel feral and snarling, and it's giving him a headache. It honestly doesn't take much to get him to leave the loft, and he ignores Peter entirely as his uncle questions him. He just gets in his car and drives, and it isn't too long before he finds himself parked a few houses down from Stiles'.

Derek doesn't wonder if it's a good idea. He just goes. He leaps up onto the roof next to Stiles' window and after a quick, careful peek and listen, he opens the window and steps through.

The first thing he thinks is that Stiles smells like chemicals and harshness. The second is that he smells of pain. Derek's insides twist and he watches Stiles struggle with his jeans for only a few seconds before Derek steps in closer.

"Stop. Let me," he says, and there's no force in his voice. He steps in close and reaches out, unbuttoning the button on Stiles' jeans and then the fly. He pulls the jeans down, then nods to the bed. "Sit. What do you want off? Socks too?"

* * *

 

So focused is Stiles on trying to be victorious over undoing his fly that he doesn't hear the familiar rumble of the Camaro. It really can't be helped as it's freakin' _difficult_. Stiles hops once, his fingers fumbling over the button as he curses under his breath at the pain that shoots up through him. The world _helpless_ streaks through his mind and he hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it. He'd insisted that he was fine to his dad. Stiles already feels crummy over worrying his dad anyway and he doesn't want to bug his dad to help him undress either. The prospect seems painfully humiliating, too.

The sound of Derek's voice startles him. "Whoa, intruder!" he blurts out, but Stiles' voice is still quiet. A few of Stiles' fingers are jammed down the waistband of his jeans while he looks at Derek. It's a complicated mix of feelings that then bubble up.

The first is a stupidly happy feeling. Stiles is glad that Derek is here. And then it's the embarrassment of being an invalid who can't undo his own pants (and knowing that Derek likely had seen him struggle). Worry comes next because Stiles doesn't know how to deal with this situation. Of course, he's been hurt _before._ Getting hurt isn't the problem, it's the circumstance that had led to it. Stiles has the sinking feeling that _he'd_ been the reason to contribute to Derek being thrown off enough to then be subsequently surprised by him.

Frankly, Stiles is tired of messing up.

Derek comes in and pulls his hand away. Stiles stands there dumbly as Derek helps him with the button and fly. He really wishes that the pain he's feeling would ground him, but no such luck. Stiles lifts one foot at a time as Derek divests him of his jeans and then tells him to sit on the bed.

Stiles sits. He doesn't even make a dog joke. His pulse is quicker, but it's not from arousal. It's weird. Derek has never _thoughtfully_ undressed him before. It's always been their clothes nearly ripped off or left partially on. Stiles doesn't really know what to do with this _now_.

"Socks?" Stiles echoes and blinks sluggishly. "Yeah, of course socks off. Sleeping with socks is weird."

With no fanfare, Derek crouches down in front of him and works off one sock. Stiles is rapt, his eyes widening as he watches Derek remove his other sock. It's so strange to see and experience _Derek Hale_ taking off his socks.

"Thanks," he murmurs and as Derek stands Stiles plops down on his bed, feeling a wave of _tiredgiddy_ hit him.

Which is kinda a mistake because fast actions are apparently bad and Stiles hisses at the flare of pain.

* * *

 

Derek does what he'd said he'd do. He helps Stiles take his jeans off. His touch is gentle, and even as Derek urges Stiles to sit, he knows it's because this is an apology. Derek doesn't let his touch linger for long. He just slides Stiles' jeans off, and when Stiles sluggishly agrees that his socks need to come off, Derek looks at him and then crouches down in front of him. He sets one knee on the floor and then takes one of Stiles' ankles in his palm, lifting his foot off the floor so that he can work one sock off, then the other.

Guilt is like a knife in his heart. He can smell the chemicals like they're a second coating on Stiles' skin, and Derek hates it. He hates that Stiles doesn't smell like Stiles. He hates that the last time Stiles hadn't smelled like Stiles, it had been for the same reason: Stiles had been hurt. He can remember the Omega, can remember the attempt on Stiles' life and all the bruising. But most of all, he can remember the scent of his fear, the stench of it, cloying and horrible.

He doesn't smell scared now, but he _does_ smell hurt. Derek sits back on his heels when Stiles' feet are finally bare. It strikes him then that he's never noticed before that Stiles has delicate ankles, and his arches are almost too high. It's something he feels he should have noticed before...

Derek gets to his feet, and he nods at Stiles' thanks, feeling out of place and awkward. The guilt still grips at him like a noose, and it's honestly only the fact that Stiles suddenly plops down and the scent of his pain spikes harder that makes Derek act.

He winces, but instead of growling or threatening Stiles to stay _still_ , instinct wrenches at him. Derek's brow furrows and he doesn't even realize that he's kicked his shoes off and shed his heavy leather jacket until he's sitting beside Stiles on the bed, unburdened by all of it.

"Let me..."

Derek reaches a hand out and sets it on Stiles' chest. He presses down, then eases closer, shifting Stiles up enough to rest his head on his pillow. Derek splays his hand over bare skin. Then, looking at Stiles, Derek's eyes bleed red and he curls his fingers as black seeps up through his veins, spreading out into the rest of his body. It hurts, but it's nothing he's not used to. It's something _Stiles_ shouldn't be used to.

* * *

 

Stiles thinks the weirdest part of this whole undressing business had been Derek touching his feet and taking off his socks. He doesn't exactly know _why,_ however. It just seems like... super personal to touch someone's feet. Didn't Jesus wash his disciples feet or something? That seems really personal. Friends touch arms and shoulders and hands at times, but feet? Nope. Stiles knows that some people have foot fetishes and whatever and it's not like Derek had been sexual or over-interested in his feet, but Derek had been gentle.

Stiles isn't exactly thinking clearly. There's a little fuzziness setting in from the pill he'd taken and the sharp pang from jolting himself doesn't help clear anything up for him. Why would his pain actually be helpful, right? It would make sense for Derek to scold him. Stiles is almost waiting for it, for Derek to look or sound annoyed and tell him to stay still and stop hurting himself more.

But it never comes. Instead, Derek kicks off his shoes and takes off the leather jacket. Stiles' head tilts to the side in confusion when Derek comes to sit beside him on the bed. And then Stiles is gently eased further up the bed and he straightens out so he's laying down more uniformly. Derek's hand comes to his sternum and Stiles look up at Derek's face and then the flash of red follows.

And then some of his pain lessens and Stiles has a dopey smile on his face at the relief he feels.

"My miracle worker, Derek Hale," Stiles comments with a yawn and he lifts his free hand to come rest atop Derek's. "C'mere, lay down, big guy."

Drugs are freeing. Drugs are good. Stiles on drugs doesn't care if he's asking to cuddle. It's nice.

* * *

 

This is Derek's fault. What _isn't_ his fault nowadays? He'd been doing better. He'd felt like it anyway. But then things had just taken a turn for the worst and now Derek doesn't even know when it all went wrong. A part of him wants to stubbornly argue that nothing is _wrong_ , but he knows better. Stiles is laying beside him in the dark with his entire arm in a sling, so high on painkillers that it's almost unfair to call him awake. _This_ is wrong. And it's his fault.

If only he'd kept it together better. If only he'd heard Stiles coming. If only he hadn't reacted to Stiles' news like he had in the first place. He knows he should be supportive of any of his pack wanting to go off to college. Hell, he should be _paying_ for them - like he'd secretly paid for Stiles' hospital bill - but Derek and abandonment go hand in hand, and he can't help his fear that if his pack go off one-by-one, that very few of them will come back in the end. Lydia won't. Jackson won't. Scott's on the fence. Isaac might. But Stiles? Stiles is a wildcard. He doesn't even _know_ he's part of the pack.

The black creeping up Derek's arm says he is.

Derek's so lost in his own thoughts that he hardly notices when Stiles talks. It's only when a hand presses to his own that he freezes, and a part of him almost wants to protest when Stiles lays back. Derek watches, and while a part of him hesitates (because he shouldn't be pressing his advantage when Stiles isn't thinking straight) it doesn't take him long to decide.

"Yeah," Derek says, and his voice is almost too quiet.

He pulls his legs up onto the bed and then studies Stiles' position closely before laying down. Derek doesn't dare jostle his shoulder; Stiles can't lay down on it. So Derek slips in behind him, carefully urging Stiles to begin to turn onto his good side. Derek tucks one arm under Stiles' pillow and then drapes the other across his chest. He's _very_ careful when he draws Stiles back against his chest, mindful of his shoulder, of his pain. But as Derek lays there, his palm remains on Stiles' bare skin and he continues to seep small amounts of pain from Stiles' body in order to keep him settled.

"This... shouldn't have happened," Derek says into the darkness, guilt stitching its way into his voice whether he likes it or not. "Get some sleep, Stiles."

* * *

 

It feels a bit like a dream to be nearly naked and so close to Derek. Sure, the conditions are not optimal given that Stiles is a little high on pain meds and his arm is in a damn sling, but Stiles isn't going to complain. At least not right now. Nope, Stiles likes this. He likes Derek doing this for him - being here and taking care of him, like he was a boyfriend. What a thought...

And it's not that Derek doesn't usually care, it's just that he is all gruff and rough around the edges. Stiles can handle it, though. He's used to it. He's used to Derek growling to be careful, he's used to Derek grabbing him and forcibly moving him if he's in the way. Stiles is also used to Derek fucking him hard enough to give bruises, biting him hard enough to leave hidden marks.

This is a change for them, though. Should he try and jerk Derek off, though? He knows Derek feels bad and getting off would probably make Derek feel better. Stiles could probably manage it, he still has the use of his left hand. But Stiles would rather just have Derek lie next to him so he doesn't offer the handjob.

Stiles doesn't put up any resistance when Derek moves him. Somehow he knows that Derek is going to continue to be gentle with him. Stiles is docile and compliant as Derek positions himself behind and spoons him. Normally Derek is a little more undressed, but it's far from bad. Derek is hot enough that Stiles doesn't need a blanket even and the spot on his chest where Derek's hand lays tingles. He closes his eyes and enjoys the closeness and comfort, soaking it up like a dry sponge.

Stiles is about to make a content sound when Derek speaks up and Stiles' eyebrows furrow, his lips coming to form a small pout. He doesn't want to hear the guilt and the should and shouldn'ts.

"Mm, maybe, but it got you here and in my bed and that's nice," Stiles murmurs, almost sounding dreamy. "And dun wanna sleep yet. Enjoying this."

* * *

 

Words well up in Derek's chest as he lays there with Stiles. They're damning things that he won't ever actually say, but they're still there. As much as he hates Stiles being hurt, he also knows that Stiles is not likely going to remember much of this in the morning, so maybe there's a part of him that wants to say what he knows he can't when Stiles is lucid. But would that only invite trouble down the road? Is it even fair to voice the words in the event that Stiles _could_ remember? Derek doesn't think so.

So instead he holds Stiles carefully. He lets him settle back against his chest and he wishes bitterly that Stiles didn't have to be injured and high for him to be able to do this. Derek shifts enough to lean in, pressing his face to Stiles' nape and breathing him in. He still smells sour, of chemicals and lingering pain, but at least the pain is beginning to abate slightly. The scent is not so thick now, not so cloying and heavy. Derek closes his eyes and sighs.

When Stiles indicates that he doesn't _want_ to sleep, Derek's lips thin but he doesn't argue. Stiles wanting him to stay, even if it's because he's enjoying being pain-free, is nice. Protests don't make it to Derek's lips. He just sighs against Stiles' nape, thinks about it, and then he nods.

Black crawls up his arm steadily and slowly, mindful not to take too much at once. Derek slowly moves in closer until he's holding Stiles properly. He's still careful not to jostle him. And if he's being honest with himself, despite the guilt that pounds its way through him, this is actually nice. He _likes_ having Stiles against him like this. If only it hadn't been like this.

"There are other ways to get me in your bed that don't involve dislocating your damn shoulder," Derek says quietly. The guilt is still really damn evident in his voice but he doesn't push it. Stiles is high; he likely doesn't know what he's saying.

* * *

 

It would be easy to fall asleep. With the pill kicking in and Derek's Jesus-hand on him, the pain is significantly more dull and Stiles grows gradually more tired and relaxed. He could sleep. He could. Derek is a comfortable weight and heat behind him. There's an arm under his pillow and arm over his chest. Stiles like this. He wouldn't say he's much for cuddling in general, but he likes it now. Or maybe there's something different because it's with Derek.

Derek may have been the one to accidentally hurt him, but Stiles does know it was an accident. He feels safe _now,_ anyway. Derek has protected him quite a bit. This incident is an outlier. Stiles can feel Derek come closer, his face against the back of his neck. There's a tiny flicker of arousal at feeling Derek's breath tickle against his skin and Stiles makes a pleased "mmm" sound.

When Derek responds, Stiles isn't so far gone that he doesn't miss the obvious tone of guilt in Derek's tone. Stiles exhales loudly, clearly displeased and not liking it.

"Hey, hey, glum-wolf, it was an accident. Ac-cid- _ent_ ," Stiles says, trying for chiding but he's not sure if he pulls it off. "So, Stiles can ask Derek to come over and hold him, hmm? Or do we gotta bone first? Or for me to dislocate another bone?" He's not sure why he's talking in third person, but he likes hearing Derek and his name in the same sentence.

Stiles' free hand comes and rests again on Derek's and he entwines their fingers. "Because Stiles likes this. Yup. Stiles likes Derek."

* * *

 

Guilt has been Derek's constant companion ever since Kate, ever since Paige. Possibly even before that. He can't remember a time when his life felt _right_ , when guilt _wasn't_ clawing at him. Now, laying in Stiles' bed with his father likely downstairs and Stiles smelling of receding pain and chemicals, Derek can't help the sensation creeping up within him. It burns because he knows that this is his fault. The pack hadn't had to explicitly tell him that; he'd known. They had told him, of course, but Derek doesn't blame the criticisms, particularly from Scott. He'd bore them in silence, but he hadn't apologized. Scott hadn't been the one who'd _needed_ the apology.

Now that he's here, laying with Stiles, the words are kind of on the tip of his tongue but he can't seem to wrench them out. Apologies have always been seen as weakness; Peter had taught him the benefit of actions over words a long time ago, and Derek's not been able to shake the habit. Words are just words. What you _do_ matters.

So he's here, with his arms around Stiles, pain creeping up his arm and diffusing through his body like insidious tendrils. Derek doesn't care; so long as _he's_ the one hurting, that's what matters.

Stiles' voice shocks him out of the small spiral he'd begun to get caught in, and while hearing Stiles' voice all slurred and drugged is somewhat unsettling, Derek can't help but listen. He frowns at first, because Stiles' words _do_ help, but when he adds on what he does - like the concept of being able to _ask_ for this is so fucking implausible - Derek's frown deepens. His eyes glint and he holds Stiles just a little tighter, and when Stiles grips his hand, Derek closes his eyes.

"This isn't conditional," he says, and his voice, while quiet, is tight. He remembers what Stiles had said in the preserve. "You don't need to break a damn bone or hurt yourself. You don't need to fuck me."

Derek wants to say more, but _more_ edges dangerously close into spilling something damning.

So instead he says, "you're high. You'll probably regret most of this in the morning."

* * *

 

Right now things seem stupid simple and Stiles likes it. Derek is here, and his pain has lessened. He's decently comfy. His head kinda feels light like spun cotton candy, but that's okay. He's alive. Has he mentioned that Derek's here? His dad is sleeping. His dad's safe. It's just a shoulder dislocation. Nothing major. His explanation of the accident had been that he was trying to re-create a stunt from one of his favorite action movies. Of course Scott's mom and his dad weren't impressed, but it _is_ the kind of thing Stiles might do on any given day.

Stiles doesn't need an apology. He knows Derek hadn't meant it. He knows Derek is sorry. Sorry is just a word, anyway. Derek taking care of him and helping him take off his socks? That's more meaningful to Stiles. He hopes he can tell Derek that tomorrow - that it meant a lot that Derek made sure he'd been taken care of at the hospital and that he'd stopped by after the fact.

Stiles is drifting but he forces himself to listen as Derek answers him. There must have been a part of him that had suspected that it's not conditional because he doesn't feel _surprised_ when Derek tells him that being hurt or messing around isn't necessary. There is an easy feeling that settles over Stiles though and he squeezes Derek's hand.

"I'm not high, I'm Stiles," he jokes and softly snorts. "And I'm only gonna regret waking up alone because I knoooooow you can't stay." He yawns and then slurs out, "Stiles says be a good boy and stay. Good boy, boyfriend."

* * *

 

Derek wonders if Stiles really _believes_ what he'd said. Does he really think he needs to hurt himself to get Derek's attention? Or to let Derek fuck him? The words linger in the back of Derek's mind as he lays there, because he'd _thought_ that Stiles had made himself pretty damn clear. He'd called their time together a booty call, and Stiles had never billed it as anything else. When this had started, he hadn't tried to make a point of telling Derek he wanted more than this. Hell, Stiles had hardly touched him without Derek encouraging him to. Derek can read between the lines.

But why would Stiles sound disbelieving? If he's just a booty call, why would it matter that Stiles would need Derek to fuck him first? Doubt lingers, so when Stiles gently squeezes his hand and then slurs out his answer, Derek is maybe paying a little more attention than he should.

Stiles doesn't want to wake up alone. Something sharp and aching twists in Derek's chest at the words, because... that's never been an option. Derek's never been willing to risk the sheriff finding out, and if Sheriff Stilinski finds him in bed with his son after an injury like this? Derek's sure he's getting shot. But Stiles sounds so... sad? Derek thinks he sounds sad. It's kind of hard to tell.

But he _definitely_ doesn't miss the word 'boyfriend'.

Derek stills. His pulse quickens so fast that he practically feels it trip over itself, and instantly there are things that leap to his mind. Derek almost says about three of them at once, too, but he only just resists the urge. Asking now wouldn't be a good idea. Stiles is still _high_. So Derek swallows, and while he wants to say so much more, he only tightens his grip on Stiles and grunts into the back of his neck.

"If your dad doesn't try to shoot me, I'll be here when you wake up, if that's what you want. I'll stay if you sleep. You _need_ to sleep, Stiles," Derek adds, gruff, and trying his damndest not to sound hopeful. "You sleep, I stay. Deal?"

* * *

 

Sure, this isn't ideal, but it's not horrible. Broken bones, scrapes, and sprains... he's used to 'em. Stiles has always been a pretty adventurous kid and he apparently hasn't grown out of that trend. After all, no one had doubted his story about the stunt attempt. He'll mend. He's already on the mend. His shoulder is popped back into place, boop, all good. (But apparently he's now more susceptible to future dislocations - yay.)

It's not horrible because Derek is here and it could have been way worse. A sling isn't super convenient, but it's not a cast. And it's only for a few weeks anyway. When the drugs wear off, Stiles is going to be worried about Derek and Derek beating himself up. It's a thing. Derek has always been great at it, too. But for now, Derek is holding him and it's nice. Stiles wants Derek to be here when he wakes up. It would also be nice to wake up next to Derek. Like a cheesy rom-com, sure, but they've never done it before and isn't life about trying new things? Yeah. That makes sense to Stiles.

Is Stiles fully aware of what he's saying? No. He'd never call Derek his boyfriend because un-high Stiles _knows_ they're not dating. Stiles would like to, though. Stiles doesn't just want to be a booty call, but... how does he bring that up after they've been doing this for months now? He has no idea.

But that's not a worry for tonight. Derek tells him that he'll stay if he sleeps. "He's not gonna shoot you, and dealio-deal, gotcha. Stiles sleeps and Derek stays," Stiles murmurs sleepily and squeezes Derek's hand. And, with Derek's warmth filtering through him, Stiles is asleep in minutes as his pain is siphoned.

He sleeps hard and doesn't wake and then it's morning and a knock on his door is what he wakes up to.

* * *

 

This is the least that Derek can do for Stiles now. If this is what he needs in order to feel better, Derek will do it. There's so much that Derek wants to ask him. The word _boyfriend_ lingers in Derek's mind like a neon sign, blinking and buzzing, but he lets it be for now. Stiles needs rest more than Derek needs answers, and there's a very real chance that Stiles won't even _remember_ this in the morning. His scent is awash with chemicals and he sounds as high as Derek can kind of feel through the pain he's been leeching away. It's very likely that Stiles will wake up without any knowledge of any of this, but Derek's going to damn well stay anyway. A deal is a deal.

It doesn't take Stiles long to go to sleep after that. Derek pointedly remains where he is, just holding him, checking in on his pain every now and then, and taking what he can. He doesn't press his advantage, doesn't hold Stiles like he would if they _were_ dating. He doesn't kiss his nape or nuzzle in close the way he _wants_ to, because he's not that much of a bastard. Instead he does what he'd promised to do.

Derek doesn't remember falling asleep. All he knows is that one moment he's comfortable, breathing in a pleasant scent, warmth all around him, and the next something in his instincts suddenly flares. His eyes snap open at the sound of someone coming closer and in Derek's sleep-addled brain, it takes him only seconds to put two and two together.

He wrenches himself clumsily away from Stiles just as the knock on the door sounds. Careful not to trip over his goddamn feet, Derek stumbles back and tries to be as quiet as possible. He looks at the window, then to his jacket and his shoes on the floor. He could dress and jump out of the window, but it's the morning and people might notice (and fuck, his car might be blocking someone's driveway). Derek's mind whirls for a second, caught, and then he hastily kicks his shoes under Stiles' bed, shoves his leather jacket under it, and gestures quickly with a finger to his lips as he darts across the room, wrenches Stiles' closet door open, and ducks inside.

He closes it as quickly - and as quietly - as he can, and then flattens himself back into the dark. Derek smells stale sweat and lacrosse gear, and it isn't _exactly_ the most pleasant, but Derek holds his breath and bites his tongue, forcing himself quiet.

"Stiles, buddy, you up?"


	5. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "God, you opening up to me simultaneously turns me on and gives my heart a boner." Stiles gives a huff of a chuckle, his one hand lifting to rest atop of Derek's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smooshycutefeels, ahoy ( ˘ ³˘)♥ 
> 
> We're currently working on the last chapter, so this'll be wrapped up soon-ish. :]
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

Shit. His dad. Dad alert. Derek. Derek's in his bed. Derek stayed? Derek's still in his bed. Actually he's not. Derek has already moved and gotten out of his bed. Fucking werewolf hearing. But his Dad. Yeah, back to that. That's the bigger problem. Before Stiles can process what he should do or what he needs to do, Derek is hiding his shoes and jacket under his bed (makes sense) and then--

Derek is launching himself into the closet and Stiles is sitting up slowly, head looking between his bedroom door and the closet door as Derek quietly closes it.

"Stiles?"

Stiles blinks and then tries to rearrange his face into something more normal looking and something less my-not-quite-boyfriend-was-just-in-my-bed expression. 

"Yo, Dad," Stiles mumbles. "You can come in."

The door opens and Stiles' dad pokes his head inside. His dad is wearing his uniform and given how tired Stiles is he knows his Dad is just stopping by to say hi and bye before work. It's early.

"How ya feeling, champ?"

Stiles yawns and tries to put on his best 'I'm totally fine and on the mend' smile. "I'm okay. Pill knocked me out, slept well," Stiles answers. "Haven't hurt myself anymore."

His dad gives a hesitant smile and a nod. "Good, son, you take it easy, I'm off, we'll order whatever you want for dinner tonight."

Stiles gives a thumbs up and a grin. "Sounds good, pops. I'll see you later." It doesn't appear that his dad has noticed that anything is wrong, so crisis averted. When his door shuts Stiles gives a loud exhale and his head drops.

It's then he notices he is sporting morning wood. Great. Well. It's to be expected. Young, Derek with him, his body was practically defenseless!

"Now's your chance to come out of the closet," Stiles jokes.

* * *

It's really damn unpleasant to be waking up in a closet. Derek's body might be awake and pumping him full of adrenaline, but it's not until he's struggling not to make any sound whatsoever that his mind begins to follow suit. It strikes him again that he's surrounded by the scent of lacrosse gear and sweat. Normally he wouldn't mind; he actually likes the scent of Stiles' sweat, but this is stale and it's all he can breathe at present because the _sheriff_ is leaaaaaning into Stiles' room to speak with his son. Derek holds his breath. He finds himself almost paranoid as he stands there, a lacrosse stick digging into the small of his back. Had he kicked everything under the bed? Had he left the window open? God, what if Stiles' dad _finds_ him here?

Derek listens, lifting a hand to his mouth in order to make sure he doesn't make a sound. Stiles, despite the fact he'd just woken up too, seems to handle the whiplash of Derek being there and gone pretty well. At first his voice is hitched and surprised, clearly distracted, but Derek does note that Stiles' voice doesn't move. He must not be looking at the closet, and Derek thanks whoever happens to be watching over him that Stiles has the common sense _not_ to direct his dad over to him.

He remains tense, his eyesight a little blurry, a yawn still building despite the dire moment, but Stiles doesn't actually let him down. Instead he talks to his dad until the sheriff is apparently satisfied. Then Derek listens intently as footsteps sound down the hall, then down the stairs.

It's Stiles' voice that breaks him out of his thoughts. Derek's got the closet halfway open before the _meaning_ registers, and the look on his face is less-than-impressed when he pushes the door open and shoots Stiles a mild glare. Derek _knows_ his hair is a mess, knows he likely has pillow-wrinkles on one of his cheeks, and his eyes are still somewhat half-lidded, but he can still look annoyed despite that.

"Ha ha," he grumbles dryly, shouldering the door open and turning to glare at the lacrosse stick that had been jabbing him. He shoves it and it rocks back to half-fall out of the closet mutinously. Derek leaves it where it is as he walks back to the bed, his heart still skipping and his expression still pinched. But when he looks down at Stiles, some of the irritation fades into something half-cautious, half-hopeful.

"How's the pain? Were you telling your dad the truth?" Derek hates that he has to ask, but he hadn't been focused on Stiles' heartbeat at the time.

* * *

Okay, as far as mornings go this isn't totally horrible. It's been salvaged. It hasn't blown up in their faces. Derek at least managed to get hidden and his jacket and shoes are under the bed. It could have went down a lot worse. Stiles doesn't even want to think about the alternative. He's pretty sure Derek isn't on his dad's radar anymore, but being introduced after being caught in bed together? No bueno. Not good. 

As his dad leaves, Stiles then wonders how it would be to actually - legitimately - introduce Derek to his dad. As his _something._ His boyfriend? Would it be over take-out and their dining room table? Whoa. He's getting ahead of himself. They're not even an _anything_. Derek seems convinced that his dad is going to shoot him, too. Derek wouldn't die, of course, but healing wounds would definitely kick start the whole 'the supernatural world exists, dad' talk (which he totally plans on doing sooner rather than later, but yeahhh). 

Derek pops out of the closet looking tired and a little disgruntled, but actually _cute._ He has seen Derek bloody and dirty. He's seen Derek sweaty. But he hasn't seen a firsthand morning Derek Hale. Derek is less put together, more soft? More _human._ Stiles likes it. It makes his chest feel warm. Of course there's still the damn ache in his shoulder, but it's not as bad as yesterday. He's going to be fine, he's just going to be a gimp for a bit. It's doable (not that he has a choice).

As Derek approaches, Stiles reaches for the sheet to pull over his ill-timed boner. "It's not bad," Stiles says. "Manageable? But I wouldn't mind some miracle hand touching, you know?" 

He smiles, hoping Derek will come back to bed. It seems easier to ask for Derek to ease some of his pain than the bed-thing.

* * *

The thing is, Derek hasn't forgotten the conversation from last night. Or at least what Stiles had said; he can remember his own guilt, is _still_ feeling it, and he knows he hadn't been much of a conversationalist. But that said, hearing that Stiles _liked_ him, and having him use the word 'boyfriend'... that still lingers in Derek's mind. It had briefly fled in lieu of the panic over potentially being caught, granted, but now that the danger has more or less passed, the words filter into his consciousness again and Derek honestly considers just _asking_ Stiles about what he'd said. But would that be fair? Is it fair to spring something like that on someone? Derek doesn't know.

He _does_ know that he can at least help Stiles with his pain, though. The request registers and Derek grunts in the back of his throat, noncommittal. Then he steps in closer and slowly reclaims his space next to Stiles, sitting back down on the bed beside him. Derek reaches a hand out to Stiles' chest, close to where he'd touched him the night before, and he wastes no time in focusing on the undercurrent of pain in Stiles' body. Derek closes his eyes against the ache in his own shoulder but it's not the worst he's ever felt. Black climbs up through his veins but he doesn't stop until the pain seems like it's vanished.

It's only then that Derek allows himself to _fully_ acknowledge the situation. It's not like he hadn't been able to smell the arousal when he'd been in Stiles' closet, but now that he's closer and can see the unsubtle line of it under his blanket, Derek darts a quick, sidelong glance at Stiles. He could offer. He's tempted to. It'd definitely be easier than asking him what he'd meant last night. But Stiles' pain is his first priority.

"Be careful when you move. Try not to tense your shoulder and it might help the pain. Does it feel better now?"

* * *

Somehow this is his life. Accidentally getting thrown and his shoulder dislocated because he hangs out with temperamental werewolves. Welcome to Stiles Stilinski, everyone! He wouldn't change it, though. Stiles likes his life and he likes his friends. Sure being a human has its downsides - the lack of healing being a big one - but Stiles thinks having a human perspective is important. He'd turned down Peter's offer, after all and he's pretty sure Derek _would_ do it, but Stiles doesn't want to be a werewolf. He likes being just himself.

And when Derek comes and settles next to him on the bed, Stiles' pulse picks up. It's the proximity of Derek combined with the fact that Derek stayed with him last night. It feels good. Really good. And he physically feels better when Derek's hand comes to rest on his chest and warmth spreads out from the touch. 

Because it's light out and he can, Stiles looks down at the contact. His eyes widen as he sees black crawl up Derek's veins. Apparently the form his pain takes is black? Interesting. Of course Stiles _wants_ to ask, but now doesn't feel like the time. Now Stiles is kind of remembering last night in bits and pieces...

"You try and not tense your shoulder," Stiles mutters for lack of anything better to say. 

"Feels better." He shifts closer to Derek, tilting his head and coming to rest it on Derek's shoulder, but the position is kinda awkward. "Can you..." Stiles shifts forward carefully on the bed. "Sit behind me and I'll lean my back against your chest?"

He's very aware that the position he's asking for is like, uber cuddling and somewhat kinda sexual at the same time because he's asking to sit in between Derek's legs, but whatever. He's hurt. He gets to be ridiculous. He gets a pass.

* * *

Derek's shoulder doesn't necessarily feel better but he doesn't voice it. He doesn't care, and he doubts that Stiles would either; Derek is used to pain and discomfort. He's pretty damn sure that if he looked, his picture would be in the dictionary under either word. What matters to him is that _Stiles'_ shoulder no longer hurts. And while Stiles' mutinous little mutter earns him a dry look from Derek, the reassurance that he's actually feeling a little better does make Derek relax. Some of the tension eases from Derek's shoulders as he looks down at the hand he has on Stiles' chest. Flexing his hand slowly until the black no longer climbs up his forearm, Derek grunts dismissively and lets himself settle.

He watches as Stiles moves - supposedly to get comfortable - but there's probably no getting comfortable in this position. So when Stiles makes his suggestion, his voice almost hesitant, Derek glances at him and frowns. A small part of him - the part that insists on self-preservation - recoils at the very idea. Derek hasn't ever stayed the night before; that he's even still _here_ is bad enough. But he can't deny that his instincts - his _wolf_ \- feel settled here. The thought of leaving fills him with nothing but guilt and anxiety, as this wouldn't have happened if not for him.

(The knowledge about Stiles possibly leaving for school cuts through him again sharply, but Derek does what he can to shove the thought away; it's not the time for that now.)

He knows his response before he even does it. Derek looks Stiles over once, then shifts. He moves closer to him on the bed and then carefully slips in behind him. Derek reaches a hand out to set on Stiles' back in order to support him and his shoulder, and then he gently eases Stiles back. Derek's hands go down to his hips and he pulls Stiles back bodily, though slow enough that he doesn't jostle his shoulder. If he's being honest with himself, _he_ wants this position anyway. If Stiles is leaving, he's going to take these moments where he can get them.

"Is this comfortable enough?" Derek asks, mindful of Stiles' shoulder. He leans in, just barely pressing his chin to Stiles' good shoulder. Derek turns his head, slowly breathing in Stiles' scent. He can't smell much pain now, and the acrid scent of chemicals seems less.

* * *

Stiles knows that when Derek takes his pain that Derek actually feels it. He doesn't really know how to react to knowing that, however. Is he supposed to say thanks? That single word seems so hollow somehow. Stiles _is_ thankful. He doesn't want Derek to feel any of his pain or discomfort (not even the post-sex pain), but Derek had done it without asking the first time... Derek had wanted to or it had been an unconscious thing. Stiles hadn't asked at the time. Had Derek asked last night? Stiles can't remember. He remembers taking his pain meds and feeling hazy, but Derek had came and laid down with him, stayed with him, held him, lessened his pain...

This is new territory. First Derek staying the night and now Derek still not leaving. So why shouldn't Stiles ask to change into a position he thinks would be more comfortable? Even if this is nothing more than a sex-thing, he's got Derek here and willing (because Derek is, at the very least, feeling guilty). Shouldn't Stiles take advantage of it? (This line of thinking makes him feel shitty though...)

Maybe it's just guilt that has Derek complying and shifting. Stiles knows he needs to be careful. He's never been great with going easy. He knows he needs to let Derek do the positioning, so Stiles doesn't rush to try and rearrange himself. Instead, Stiles lets Derek handle it and after Derek sneaks in behind him, Derek eases him back and for a guy who's all flip-y and fast, Derek is surprisingly gentle and careful with him and Stiles settles back against Derek's broad chest. 

It feels so fucking right that a different kind of hurt lances through his chest. Stiles is still aroused, but it's not the most important thing. Derek is aware of it, of course. Stiles has never been able to hide it. The question has Stiles opening his mouth to answer but when Derek's head ducks in close over his shoulder, Stiles' heart trips over itself as he feels Derek breath in slowly. 

"Y-yeah," Stiles answers shakily and he takes in a deeper breath of his own. His eyes slip shut and his available hand reaches up to rest on Derek's messy hair. Derek had stayed. Derek's hair has roosters from sleeping next to him. Stiles wants to see more of them. Stiles wants to be the reason why Derek's clothes are rumpled and he has sleep lines on his face. Fuck. He's got it bad. There's no denying it. 

"While we're here, I thought you should know that I think I might be in love with you. I think I've felt this way for a while too. Just, yeah. That's a thing. It's a thing. I have a thing for you and it's not just a booty call thing." It rushes out. An impromptu love confession. Stiles should be terrified, but the _rightness_ of this position and Derek's closeness, it settles some of the anxiety.

* * *

Despite the abrupt awakening, now that Derek is once again sat on Stiles' bed and Stiles is settled back against his chest, he feels the heaviness of relaxation begin to return to his limbs. Derek had actually slept well the night before, which is a novel experience. Now, despite the guilt that still cuts over his skin that he'd been the one to hurt Stiles in the _first_ place, Derek slowly noses in against Stiles' throat, where his scent is rich and warm. It's familiar and Derek's mind quiets a little when he takes it in. He feels Stiles' pulse skip and trip as much as he hears it, and Derek opens his eyes to try and figure out why Stiles' pulse had skipped, but no answer is immediately forthcoming. Derek hesitates, somewhat cautious. Then a hand slowly lifts up and fingers thread through his hair, and it's a different kind of sensation that cuts through him.

Derek sighs softly at the touch, and he's honestly all set to relax, to just _enjoy..._ when Stiles' pulse begins to race and the sudden anxiety draws Derek out of his half-guilt, half-contentment. He's wary at first, then suddenly there's a rush of words that Derek's mind trips over.

It doesn't mean that he doesn't _listen_ , though. He really, _really_ does. He freezes.

At first he thinks Stiles is mocking him. The words come out on such a frantic rush of Stiles' racing pulse and sudden tension that Derek's reaction is suspicion. But while he goes rigid, he doesn't actually draw back, because... because _fuck_ , even if it's Stiles messing with him, the words go right down to the broken parts right inside of him and they lodge there like they're meant to be there. Derek closes his eyes tight, his jaw tense, and he tries to find the strength to shove Stiles back, to snarl at him for being an _ass_ when one very important realization makes Derek go still. 

Stiles' pulse, while racing, had never actually _skipped_. It's still hammering with something like anxiety, but as shock slowly settles over Derek's senses, he realizes with aching awe that Stiles still isn't lying. And if Stiles isn't lying, that means... he's telling the truth? Can Derek even _dare_ to let himself think like that? 

"What?" Derek asks, and he means for there to be power in his voice, or at least something gruff and demanding. There isn't. His voice is barely a whisper, like putting power behind it could blow the realization away like smoke on the wind. "Don't--" Derek swallows, and the sound is audible. "Don't fuck with me, Stiles. Not like that."

* * *

This has the potential to ruin everything between them. Stiles knows. He may not have much experience with relationships and sex, but he _knows_ how this had started. He'd pissed Derek off. He'd challenged Derek after a failed mission. He'd been teasing Derek, goading him. And Derek had drug him to the alley, pushed him against a wall, and shut him up with the hottest kiss ever. It hadn't been thoughtful. 

It had been impulsive. It had been frenzied, but like the dam finally breaking between them. After years of an undercurrent of sexual tension between them, finally something came of it. And then Stiles had come in his pants like a goddamn teenager after Derek's thigh had willingly pushed against him.

It's been a lot of hot sex. Case in point, their last two times... Christ, Derek had gotten him to tear up, had him loud and nearly losing it. Derek had fingered him into coming over the hood of the Camaro. Maybe Derek is just that good or maybe Stiles is just that sensitive. Who knows, but Stiles knows it's not just sex for him on his end. Yeah, Derek isn't always the easiest person to get along with, but shit, Derek is good. Derek tries and means well and that's important to Stiles.

But if Derek doesn't feel the same way, Stiles doubts that this will keep going. Things would get awkward as fuck between them. It's one of those no coming back scenarios.

So it's not a flowery or smooth confession, it's a little rushed and a little choppy, but it's all Stiles and it's genuine. And it has Derek noticeably tensing. But Derek isn't pushing him away or racing for the window. That has to mean something. Still, Stiles doesn't know what's going to go down. His hand stays in Derek's hair but his fingers don't move.

"Hey, _you_ don't fuck with me," Stiles retorts, but there isn't any heat to his voice. "You don't question a man's jumbled love confession."

* * *

It has to be a trick, except Derek can't hear the deception in Stiles' voice. He can't hear his pulse skipping and he can't feel him tensing or trying to pull away. Stiles seems honest, but there's no way-- is there? Fuck, Derek doesn't even know what to do, because while people fuck him, and while they flirt with him, that's as far as it goes. People don't _love_ him. He's a quick fling and it dies out, or someone tries to kill him. That's been his experience. But with Stiles here, he doesn't _want_ that. Stiles is... Stiles is different, much as Derek's spent a long time wishing otherwise. Sex is simple. Feelings are complicated, and Derek's felt complicated for years.

Stiles' response is almost immediate and Derek does expect there to be a snort of laughter or... or _something_ , but there isn't. And he says it again - love confession - and Derek goes still. 

All he can suddenly think of is what Stiles had said last night when he'd been high. About liking him. About Derek being his boyfriend. Derek frowns deeper as he looks down at Stiles and thinks back. Stiles had never outright told him he'd been a booty call; he'd been self-deprecating about _himself_ and Derek hadn't caught it until right this second. If that's the case, does that mean... God, he really doesn't know how to handle this.

It feels like someone's just passed him a small bird and warned him not to crush it. Derek doesn't know how to handle delicate moments, or delicate _anything_. But the longer he stays quiet, the longer he realizes that he needs to say something, even if he's shocked out of his mind. Even if there's a small lightness to his chest.

"You're serious," Derek says after a long pause, and he sounds stunned. He knows he should say a lot more than just that, and he _wants_ to, but... nothing is coming to mind. Nothing except this odd warmth and giddiness that he's not accustomed to. Derek swallows and then finally he moves, turning his head enough so that he can press his face to Stiles' neck. Fingers are still in his hair and Derek rumbles a low growl, though it's soft and soothing. His hold on Stiles tightens ever so slightly. He's always been better at actions, but Derek _knows_ he needs to actually say something.

"It's never been _just_ a sex thing for me, Stiles," he finally manages, awkward as it sounds. Derek breathes Stiles' scent in deeply. "I have... feelings. For you."

* * *

Wait a second. Shouldn't Derek be able to hear whether or not he's lying? Stiles has never been great at lying to begin with and he's even worse when it comes to lying to supernatural creatures that have a step-up on him sense-wise. Stiles is getting all hyped up to point this out to Derek, to remind Alpha Daddy of his built-in lie detector, when the silence just ticks on...

And it somehow gets difficult to push the words out. Panic threatens to crawl up and hold Stiles under the water, it's going to be like drowning--

Derek answers and for some reason actually sounds surprised. Stiles feels his lips want to curve into a frown. Why _wouldn't_ he be serious? Does it somehow seem entirely ridiculous that he'd love Derek, that it wouldn't just be a sex thing?

Then Derek's face is moving closer, facial hair scratching at Stiles' still-bare skin. Then he hears a sound, low and soft and it calms Stiles immediately. It's not a usual sound Derek makes. It's not a frustrated or sexy growl. It's not an exasperated sigh. It's a sound that Stiles hasn't ever heard, even. But Stiles feels settled by it. Derek goes on and finally says more. He says what Stiles has been hoping and needing to hear. 

Not just a sex thing. Feelings For him. Stiles' fingers grip into Derek's hair now and he can't help but shudder from the staggering relief. He feels a confusing mix of relief and heat and arousal flood into him. Stiles wishes he could do something, react physically like whipping around and hugging Derek. He's practically vibrating with energy and it's freakin' hard to _not_ let himself move, but he doesn't want to jerk his shoulder (and risk Derek's wrath).

Stiles shakily laughs. "Well, you should. I'm a catch, you're a catch, we're practically a power couple," he yammers, excited nerves bleeding into his voice. His hand scratches at Derek's scalp. "God, I wanna human-maul you, is that a thing?" Stiles gives a frustrated groan as he arches back into Derek.

* * *

Derek doesn't think he'll ever get used to how this feels. He'd spent so damn long convincing himself that nothing beyond the physical could ever happen. He'd boxed himself into the idea so deeply that it feels almost impossible to consider the alternative now. But the _alternative_ is curling his fingers in Derek's hair and gripping. Derek feels the tug at his scalp that sends something hot racing down his spine. He feels the way Stiles' nails scratch at his scalp, making prickles follow suit. This seems impossible, but Stiles' fingers are still in his hair, and as Derek listens to the wild beat of his pulse and scents the growing excitement and rush of adrenaline, he realizes that it's not only possible: it's real.

The surge inside of him feels almost too sharp to be allowed. It's almost painful, it's so bright, but it feels _good_. He swears that Stiles has to be able to feel how quickly his own pulse is beating. Derek feels like his muscles are locked in a state of wanting to do everything at once. Energy races through him enough that he wants to get up and run, but the desire to wind his arms around Stiles and crush him to his chest is just as attractive.

Luckily, Stiles seems to feel the same way. Derek feels bad for him, because at least Derek _could_ get up and run if he wanted. But he can practically feel Stiles vibrating in excitement. There's a tremor to his voice that betrays the excitement and emotion there, and Derek wants to bury himself in it. There's a part of him that doesn't believe this even now, and he can hardly breathe as he nuzzles his face in against Stiles' neck and feels Stiles arch against him. But Stiles' frustrated question has him huffing a soft laugh.

"Maybe? I've never been human. But I know the feeling. Filled with energy and nowhere to put it." Derek doesn't add that he'd only felt like this once before, but it hadn't been a good time. It had been after the fire, when he'd been so furious that not even running himself sick could help. Pent up energy with nowhere to put it - good or bad - isn't good. And so maybe that's the reason why he does it, or maybe it's just because he _wants_ Stiles to feel good.

Derek slides one hand down to press warmly against Stiles' stomach, trailing his fingers over the sparse hair there before he reaches down and slides his hand slowly under the blanket that Stiles had drawn up. Derek presses his palm over the hot rise in Stiles' boxers, feeling the heat of his cock, the hardness there. His lips brush against Stiles' throat.

"I'm not... I'm not _good_ at saying things. Not when they matter. I thought..." He grunts, dismissive. "I was an idiot. But I'm good at _doing_ things. Can I... would you let me do this for you? Just this? I know it's probably hard to do with your arm in a sling, and... fuck, I just want to make you feel good."

* * *

Feelings for him. Freakin' _feelings_. Not just a sex thing. Derek has feelings for _him_. It rings in Stiles' mind like a bell, crisp and resonant... Or maybe it's like a gong, reverberating in his skull and shaking him up. Whatever it is, Stiles feels like it could be a dream. He wants to pinch himself, to look for extra fingers on the one hand he can easily look at, but he doesn't. It is real. Holy shit, it's real. 

They're a thing. Of course, that means that they're likely both idiots who just assumed that things were one-sided. No surprise there... Stiles will likely tease Derek later, but for now, with the urge to fly off the wall, the desire to lunge at Derek and stick to him like velcro, his chest tight, Stiles needs to focus on calming down. He really doesn't want anymore injuries. 

_Filled with energy and nowhere to put it_ , Derek says. Makes sense. It's good though. It's good energy. It's giddiness and relief and surprise and hope and Stiles likes it. It's like a kaleidoscope, each feeling symmetrical and repeating and captivating him. Then Derek's hand draws his attention as fingers graze over the sparse hair on his abdomen before travelling lower and _oh--_

A warm palm presses against his erection and Stiles cries out, his hips lifting and pushing against the touch as pleasure spikes at the attention. Derek's mouth brushes against his throat and Stiles' hand falls away from Derek's hair, shaking as Derek talks about _doing_ things and Stiles can attest to that. Derek is very good at doing things, especially sexy things to him and with him and involving him. 

"'Course-- 'course you can," Stiles sputters. "You're my favorite idiot." Stiles takes a steadying breath before going for it: "Derek, you're the idiot I love."

* * *

Once, Derek had been good at words. He'd been good at laying his feelings on the line. But then everything had gone up in smoke and words had become caustic and double-edged and he'd never seemed to have the right ones. So while the emotions race through his mind, while there _are_ words on his tongue, it's actions he trusts. It's the way Stiles trembles when Derek nuzzles against his bare throat. It's the way he arches when Derek touches his dick. It's the way Stiles' hands fall away when Derek's stubble scratches along his skin. He might not be saying anything, but like this, he knows that Stiles understands. Derek sure as Hell does, because unlike him, Stiles does know how to talk. He often talks in excess, but at least Derek's always aware of where his mind is. This is no exception.

The cry that Stiles lets out initially makes Derek tense. He immediately goes to listen for the sheriff when he remembers that the sheriff isn't _here_. It takes him a moment to process that, then another to realize what that means. When he does, something eager and fond sparks inside and Derek hums a low, rougher sound of contentment. He feels the outline of Stiles' cock against his palm and gives it an encouraging squeeze, and he listens to the way Stiles' breath hitches when he talks. But when Stiles goes on to say the 'L' word, something thrilled and terrified twists in Derek's stomach. It feels good though. It feels _really_ good.

Derek's careful as he wraps one arm around Stiles' waist and lifts his ass up off the bed. He eases Stiles' boxers down to mid-thigh, enough to expose his cock, and then lets him rest back on the bed, and back against Derek's chest. Stiles still smells like residual pain, but he also smells like contentment and arousal and warmth. Derek noses in just under his ear, breathing in his scent deeply with a low, soft groan. He mouths at Stiles' neck, then reluctantly unwraps his arm from Stiles' waist in favor of reaching back for the bedside table.

"Say it again?" Derek asks, trailing kisses down the line of Stiles' throat, where his scent is strongest. 

The snap of a bottle cap sounds and then Derek reaches back down. He wraps a slick hand carefully around Stiles' cock, feeling the silken weight of it. But instead of just going for it like he's done every time in the past, this time Derek strokes slowly, his fingers learning the shape and feel properly. His thumb rubs slowly just beneath the head of Stiles' cock and when he turns his head again, it's to kiss just below Stiles' jaw.

* * *

On one hand it's terrifying to be saying it, but on the other it's emboldening. The L-word. Four letters. Often misused. Usually overused. It's just a word and yet, for them, Stiles knows it's more. It's the truth. It's an acknowledgement that what they've both been feeling for years has grown into something real and substantial. It's Stiles not alone in his longing and hope and it means so much. So fucking much.

They've always been hella good at sex. Like in tune and in sync. On the same page. It's never been difficult to get off with Derek. While things don't necessarily go perfectly, it's always been really enjoyable and somehow uncomplicated. Stiles had always chalked it up to Derek being older and experienced (which is still true), but now he's beginning to suspect that it's because it's never _just_ been about sex. They've had feelings, they've wanted more and that's ran over into the sex. How could it not? 

Derek answers by lifting him to carefully slip his boxers down lower. They've never done it like this before, with him leaning against Derek and Derek's legs spread around him. Stiles feels safe and while he'd like to be able to easily see Derek, it's also really hot to have Derek's face pressed in so close to his neck and Stiles knows that Derek is breathing him in -- scenting him. The dull ache at his shoulder fades when he hears Derek reach for the lube. Handjobs with lube are the best. It's better than spit or lotion, that's for sure.

_'Say it again?'_

Derek gives his request and Stiles thinks back to the time when he'd asked Derek the same thing. Stiles had been on his knees and Derek had said that he wanted him here and Stiles had desperately needed to hear it again--

Stiles is opening his mouth to give Derek what he wants when a slick hand is wrapping around his dick. Instead of intelligible words, a breathy moan comes out. Derek's hand doesn't start jerking him off quickly though. Instead, Derek's fingers move slow, almost exploratory and somehow that's even hotter and Stiles tips his head back, a shudder working through him.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles exclaims, voice shaky with emotion. It's not just arousal. It's everything. It's Derek here with him, holding him and not rushing. It's Derek wanting to hear him say it again. "Love you... I love you." He purposefully pushes his ass back, hoping to provide some stimulation.

* * *

They've never done it like this before. Stiles' dick is a hot, silken weight in Derek's palm, but he doesn't just go for it like he normally does. They do rough, quick, and dirty _really_ fucking well. Seeing Stiles on the edge, scenting his arousal and watching him ride the line of overstimulation _is_ hot; Derek's not about to say that it's not. But while they're good together when it's the snap of hips and choked gasps and nails clawing, Derek can't shake the desire to see if they're still good like this. 

His instincts are fucking _howling_ with satisfaction and it's hard to keep himself in check as he noses in against Stiles' throat and breathes him in with every breath. It's hard to avoid the desire to bite and hold, to press Stiles down onto his hands and knees (which isn't possible now) and do this the way he should have been all along. 

Stiles _loves_ him. The words make Derek want to clutch Stiles close, but they also make him want to shy away, because those words have never brought him anything good. But... but Paige had been quick, and Kate had been almost immediate. He's been with Stiles for months and only now is this coming out. Derek doesn't know if that makes it realistic. He doesn't know if this is even smart. But scenting the waves of joy rolling off of Stiles now even despite his injuries makes Derek want to try. Logic can't break him of that, no matter how much past experience makes him want it to.

Then Stiles talks, his voice shaking, and Derek feels something that feels alarmingly close to a whine rise up in his throat. It doesn't escape; he's not _that_ far gone, but he does press his lips to Stiles' throat, and he does groan softly when Stiles rocks back against him. Derek only just manages to stop himself from rutting against Stiles' ass; _God_ , does he want to. But... no. 

"No," he manages, though his voice is rough with the clear desire. "Let... let me do this for you. Fuck, Stiles, I should have been doing this all along."

Derek's teeth catch the lobe of Stiles' ear and he bites carefully, his hand still slowly moving over Stiles' cock. Derek settles his free arm around Stiles' waist to keep him still, though also makes a point to press up against him from behind so that Stiles can _feel_ how much this is affecting Derek. He shudders as he nudges the blanket and looks down at the head of Stiles' cock poking out from the middle of his fist. The scent of it - of Stiles' excitement and arousal - is like a balm to him. 

And like this, riding high on the knowledge that this hadn't been _just_ sex, Derek lowers his voice and growls low into Stiles' ear. " _Mine_."

* * *

Derek hasn't said it back to him. Derek hasn't said the apparent magical words of 'I love you' but Stiles doesn't need them because Stiles knows them. Love _is_ just a word and using the word isn't a requirement. He doesn't feel like he's missing out on anything. It doesn't feel any less. Stiles knows Derek loves him. He feels it. In each brush of a kiss against his neck, in the steadying hold Derek has on him, supporting. Stiles feels enveloped in warmth, in the heat, smell and touch of Derek being with him like this. He wants this - more of this - so much more. 

As he says it again for Derek, as he repeats himself, he feels Derek pause a moment before there's a quiet groan gifted to him. Stiles has the idea that it's actually this stuff right here that threatens to undo Derek (and Stiles has the distinct feeling that he also wants to protect Derek from such a fate, somehow). Looking back now, Stiles realizes he hadn't really been in love with Lydia -- or at least, it hadn't been the same. This feeling now, this expansive thing that fill him from his toes to his currently messy slept-on hair - Stiles likes it. He's not any different. Stiles is still himself, but now everything just seems a little brighter. 

Derek tells him to _not_ push back and Stiles is frowning until understanding dawns on him. It's not that pushing back is a problem (Stiles can feel how hard Derek is) but Derek wants to just give this to him -- like a present and hey, who is Stiles to refuse such a gift? Teeth nip at his ear lobe and it's mighty difficult to not let his hips snap forward in encouragement as Derek's fingers slide over him. Stiles' eyes flutter closed, as he lets the sensation and intimacy wash over him. When Derek growls a single word, Stiles shakes. 

_'Mine_.'

It shouldn't be so hot, but it fucking is, it really is. And it's not some like misogynistic ownership thing because Derek is _his_ too. It's a shared thing. They belong to each other. 

"Yeah," Stiles groans, his voice tight with arousal. "Yeah, I'm yours." Stiles tries to take in a steadying breath, pleasure curling through his body as Derek's slick hand works him slowly. It's so different to not be rushed. There's no pressure, just a lazy enjoyment and a trust that Derek is going to take care of him. "And you're mine. Derek. You're _mine_." Stiles lolls his head to the side, away from Derek's mouth to elongate his neck. "Bite me... Leave me a mark." Stiles doesn't plan on hiding ever again.

* * *

The words are there, lingering in the back of Derek's mind. He can taste them on his tongue like a memory that might not be particularly pleasant, but the more he feels Stiles shiver in his arms, and the sharper the scent of his arousal grows, the more Derek realizes that while the memories might be bad, they can't hurt him. Anything could happen in Beacon Hills, but the _memories_ can't cut him or claw him or tear him apart the way so many m1ore things in this damn town can. But in this single moment of intimacy he'd never thought he'd get to share with Stiles, the words are there. While he doesn't say them yet, they suffuse his actions and he can _feel_ the moment that Stiles realizes. 

The tension drains out of him in a heartbeat. Derek scents the spike of arousal and feels the relaxation that sinks into Stiles' limbs. Derek is careful of Stiles' shoulder as he draws Stiles in close. His strokes stay slow but full, not the rushed, frantic groping that the two of them are used to, but something more. This isn't a hasty fuck in the dark where the both of them need to stay quiet. This is Derek _finally_ taking the time to really know Stiles' body. He takes his time to lock the weight and thickness and heat of Stiles' dick away in his mind, and he quickly learns where Stiles likes the attention focused the most. 

Thoughts swirl in Derek's mind up until Stiles shakily answers him. And when the words fall from Stiles' lips - that Derek belongs to _him_ as well - Derek isn't prepared for the damn howl that suddenly wants to rise in his chest. It goes against instinct; an Alpha leads the pack, and the pack is loyal to their Alpha. An Alpha isn't _owned_ but they are _responsible_ for their Betas. But this... Derek doesn't know what it means. He just can't quite stop the choked little groan that spills from his throat, and he can't stop it from turning into a low, rumbling, possessive growl when Stiles so blatantly bares his throat to him. 

Derek feels the skin under his lips pull taut and the desire to sink his fangs in to claim and turn is so strong that he feels winded by it. His exhale is trembling and he murmurs Stiles' name on a rough breath. Then he slides his hand up and focuses slightly quicker strokes of his hand around the reddened head of Stiles' cock. His teeth - human - find the line of Stiles' throat, and Derek moves from the base of it all the way up to just below Stiles' ear, where his scent is strongest. Everyone will see. Everyone will _know_. Derek growls.

"Love you," Derek says, and his voice is so low that it's almost inaudible, but the thought of claiming without Stiles knowing for sure seems cruel. Before he can think on it, before he can panic, Derek presses down with his teeth and nips sharply, then begins to suck a mark high on Stiles' throat. And only when it's red and dark and obvious does Derek truly _bite_ , his hand still jerking steadily to offset the pain of it. 

* * *

The fang and claw play had been a point of contention between them. Something dangerous, like fire, and Stiles had wanted to crowd them both into it, impulsively asking and demanding at the same time. They'd both been interested, of course, but they hadn't necessarily been _ready_ to dabble with such things. What Stiles wants now is Derek's human mouth opening and more blunt human teeth biting into his pale neck. 

He wants a mark. Anything he leaves on Derek heals and yeah it kinda sucks, but Stiles knows he's left a mark on the _inside_. Like lovers do on an old tree, he's carved his initials on Derek's heart. _S.S._

Stiles isn't thinking about the dynamics and how they might shift with Derek being in a relationship with him. Stiles can see a lot of teasing and sure Jackson is probably going to be the most problematic, but that's just Jackson's _thing._ And his dad? Well, his dad ultimately wants him to be happy. Stiles knows that. Derek has been cleared and really they should just tell his dad the truth about everything because that would help explain some of the weird shit (or like, all of it).

Derek's hand is sure, but steady. Pleasure and tension are building up so perfectly within Stiles and it's so different to be able to slowly enjoy it, to enjoy every slide of Derek's hand, the occasional squeeze, the pass of fingers over top his cockhead. And the groan that shifts into a growl has Stiles leaking. Stiles has no clue why Derek growling like this gets to him, but he does. He's a goner. Derek's hand moves a little faster, teeth meet Stiles' throat but no immediate bite comes. Instead, Derek drags his teeth upward and it has a shiver racing down Stiles' back.

Stiles is so caught up in the anticipation that he almost doesn't hear Derek's words. Teeth finally bite, but it's not too hard. Then the words _hit_ him like a steering wheel to the face. Derek just said them. _Love you._ Stiles feels a confusing jolt of affection and arousal that soon gets offset by the sucking and Stiles' breathing turns harsh. 

Then Derek really bites and it takes all of Stiles' willpower (and likely Derek restraining him) to not jerk. It hurts, of course. It's still teeth and pressure, but knowing where those teeth are, where the mark is and what it means? Stiles is helpless as his orgasm slams into him and he comes all over himself and Derek's hand with a near-shout.

* * *

Derek's world has narrowed in on Stiles. On Stiles' breathing, his pulse, the scent of his arousal. On wanting to keep him restrained so he doesn't hurt himself, and on wanting to give him every bit of pleasure and attention that he can manage. He can feel the thrumming of Stiles' pulse underneath his teeth and the desire to shift, to sink his fangs into Stiles' throat and change him, to make him smell like nothing but pack is so damn strong. Derek doesn't do it. 

He _won't_. Not unless Stiles makes that decision one day. But it doesn't stop the desire from burning under his skin, and it doesn't stop his pulse from racing as he feels the throb of blood under Stiles' skin and scents how high his arousal is climbing. 

He feels Stiles begin to tense the second before he actually does, and Derek's arm locks tightly around Stiles' waist to keep him steady as Derek bites him. Derek scents the pain, the rush of adrenaline, but he's lost in the way that Stiles shakes and shudders, in the spike of his arousal. He feels every second of it as Stiles' pleasure suddenly soars higher and higher, and Derek doesn't let up once. 

He doesn't slow his strokes when precome begins to dampen his fist, and he doesn't slow his strokes when he hears Stiles' breathing begin to hitch and shake and almost whine on each exhale. Instead he keeps it up, keeps biting, and he revels in the knowledge that Stiles is going to come _because_ of Derek's bite, his mark. Everyone will look at him and see, and Derek feels possession and joy thunder just below his skin.

When Stiles comes, it's almost violent in its intensity. He nearly screams with it, his voice hoarse as he seizes in pleasure. Derek's teeth bite harder and he clutches Stiles close to his chest with a low, rumbling growl as come spills out over his quickly-jerking fist, making each stroke slicker and making it sound almost obscene. One of Derek's legs curls and pins Stiles' down, keeping him from jerking himself into further injury, but he lets Stiles squirm and writhe in his pleasure as the moment stretches on.

And only when he feels Stiles beginning to relax, beginning to shake and shudder with aftershocks does Derek finally ease up on the bite. He draws back to kiss at reddened skin, licking almost apologetically at it, but the sight of it fills him with nothing but pride. He hadn't broken Stiles' skin, but the once-pale canvas is now deep, mottled red and purple. No one who looks at Stiles will be able to ignore it, and the knowledge sends something hot and twisting through Derek's chest. 

"So fucking perfect," he says, and the words just spill out because he can finally _say_ them. Derek's beard scratches Stiles' skin as he nuzzles in closer, and the soft groan he lets out is all possession. "You okay?"

* * *

Stiles has gotten off numerous times with Derek. He's had Derek fuck him silly while he's jerked himself and made a sticky mess. They've stroked each off furiously while their jeans and boxers have only been down around their thighs. Stiles has also come _just_ from Derek fucking into him. And most recently Derek fingering him into a writhing mess on top of the Camaro's hood. Yeah, there's been _a lot_ of really good orgasms, some more intense, some more sudden.

This is different, though. Derek isn't rushing because they're finally not in a rush. There's no time limit. They don't have to be quiet either. Derek can growl while he bites and Stiles doesn't need to try and quiet himself either. The suck-bite mark is going to give him a wicked bruise and Stiles is freakin' stoked because it feels remarkably good to be able to wear one of Derek's marks.

He's proud that they're together. He wants everyone to know. Okay... Maybe not _everyone_ , but definitely their friends and his dad (and ugh, he's not looking forward to the smug treatment Peter is going to give them but it can't be helped).

Derek holds him still, a leg even coming to hook over his own to help. Stiles' come adds to the slick sounds of lube as Derek's hand works him through the orgasm, pumping what feels like every last drop out of him. Stiles' eyes close as pleasure rushes through him, the pain of the bite seeming to only heighten everything. His shoulder aches a little but it's so dull in comparison to the overwhelming bliss of everything -- not just the coming bit. Derek kisses and licks at his neck and the praise given to him makes him feel lazy and content, like he imagines a fat cat would feel after feasting on fish.

Or something. 

"Okay? I'm fucking great," Stiles says, amused. "Minus the shoulder thing, but hey, it got me you, so I think it's a win."

It's then his phone chimes and Stiles is instinctively trying to reach for it until Derek swats at him and, with his dry hand, reaches and hands his phone over. Stiles reads the text and gives a snort. 

"I'm going to have company in about twenty minutes. Scott, Erica and Jackson. They're coming with coffee and muffins, though. Whiiich means that _we're_ going to have company."

* * *

Something satisfied burns under Derek's skin at Stiles' lazy reassurance. Derek looks at him, at the dazed, pleased, and pleasured expression on Stiles' face as he slowly comes back down from his high. Derek's lips trail slow paths up and down Stiles' neck, pressing in closer because he _can_ now. It might not change everything; they still have a lot they should eventually talk about, but those topics have eased in Derek's mind. Topics of being wary of biting or clawing Stiles can be dealt with once he's better. The origin of the injury, Derek's odd behavior... those he should address sooner, and he's just gearing himself up to try and shove aside his _own_ arousal enough to think of how to start when Stiles' phone beeps on the side table. 

Derek catches Stiles reaching for it a second before he swats his hand (it's instinctual) and then gets Stiles' phone for him. Derek sends him a half-dry look in reprimand, but seeing as his chin comes back to rest on Stiles' shoulder and Derek leans in to breathe in the scent of him immediately, he's clearly not _that_ annoyed. He reaches over for a tissue to wipe his hand off (though a part of him wants to lick instead) and takes a second to carefully clean the come from Stiles' stomach as well as his cock. He does the latter as gently as he can, mindful of overstimulation. But then Stiles mentions _company_ and Derek half-freezes in a quick spike of panic before he realizes that... he doesn't have to.

His mark is high on Stiles' throat. There's no way the pack won't know. Derek's scent is saturated into Stiles' sheets, and now the scent of come is thick in the air. Even if he were to take bleach to the room, there would still be some traces left. Somehow being trapped into it actually helps Derek's panic ease, especially when Stiles stresses the word ' _we're_ '. Derek's quiet. Then, after a moment, he nods against Stiles' throat.

"Yeah. Guess it means we are. Here, lift," he adds, giving Stiles' ass a small slap with his fully-clean hand as he encourages him to lift his hips. Derek helps Stiles pull his boxers back up and then pulls him back against his chest again. He may be hard still but he's not rushed with it. Instead Derek reaches a hand over to set on Stiles' chest, close to his shoulder. 

"I didn't mean to do this," he adds, and while he tries to keep his voice flat, the guilt in it is fairly evident. His palm flattens to Stiles' chest and just to be safe, Derek draws on the pain to make sure that Stiles isn't in any when the others arrive. "It was the thought of you going off to school and not seeing you again."

* * *

They _are_ a we. Stiles doesn't think twice on phrasing it that way. They love each other. They don't need to be specific and ask each other out like teenagers. Stiles is honestly just happy enough that Derek has finally admitted some feelings, he doesn't want to ask for more. Stiles is realistic. Derek isn't the type to get him flowers or chocolate and make a big deal out of things and Stiles honestly doesn't want such common romantic notions. He's never needed grand gestures or presents. He just wants Derek. He wants Derek to be there for him, to be around and available. He wants Derek to be _his_ and Stiles thinks that they're on the same page, finally. 

Derek begins cleaning him up and this is actually new for them. Usually they'll clean up themselves which Stiles has no problem with. Sometimes a washcloth will be passed between them, but this time Derek dries him off carefully and Stiles is a little stunned, but he says nothing and he he allows it, drinking in the touch and attention and the damn thoughtfulness (and both his heart and dick like it a little too much and he's pretty sure he could get hard again in no time just thinking and experiencing the care). 

He allows Derek to slip up his boxers and Stiles settles back against Derek's chest. Stiles can still feel Derek's boner present and he _wants_ to do something about it, he does, but Derek is sounding like a kicked puppy bringing up the accident and Stiles frowns, squirming as Derek reveals _why._ They've never really done honesty and communication. They talk. They bicker. They plan. They dirty talk. But _communication?_ This is new and it has Stiles feeling stupid-happy that Derek is doing it and of his own volition. And man, Stiles _wants_ to make a joke about needing to give Derek a treat to reinforce positive behavior, but he doesn't want to risk ruining this moment.

And Derek has also just let Stiles know something important. The revelation has Stiles feeling a mix of nervous butterflies and glee because Derek had been legit worried and stressed about him leaving and that means he's important and fuck, did Derek really just open up to him? This is monumental. He needs to deal with it well, to be cool--

"God, you opening up to me simultaneously turns me on and gives my heart a boner." Stiles gives a huff of a chuckle, his one hand lifting to rest atop of Derek's. "But fuck, you know I wouldn't just disappear, right? You're all important to me. _You,_ specifically," Stiles rushes out and he leans his head back on Derek's shoulder. He feels warm and excited and he tries to wiggle back against Derek's dick. "I'm proud of us and now that we're a _we,_ there's gonna be no hiding. You don't get to be rid of me that easily."

* * *

It's not easy to admit what had been on Derek's mind, but like this, with Stiles a solid warmth against his chest, the truth aired between them, Derek can't think of a better time to rush ahead. It's a thought that had struck him upon seeing Stiles' shoulder again, and he'd just gone ahead before he could convince himself to keep quiet. His explanation isn't enough; Derek's no idiot (though some might argue otherwise). There's no way being hurt can justify _physically_ hurting Stiles, but Derek realizes as the words escape that he doesn't want Stiles to think Derek had just lashed out for no reason. They don't communicate. Derek doesn't communicate with _anyone_ if he can help it. Words always feel so damn underwhelming compared to actions, but he thinks Stiles deserves this.

If the way Stiles' pulse picks up and flutters with excitement-or-nerves is any indication, Derek _thinks_ he'd said the right thing. A quick check is all it takes to see the look on Stiles' face, and he doesn't look afraid of Derek or angry, so he's going to hope he'd _done_ the right thing too. 

Derek's almost glad to hear Stiles' answer, though the words make him blink. Stiles has always had a very interesting way with words, and Derek isn't sure how to respond at first. He breathes in, and there _is_ a very faint hint of arousal present, but it's hard to make out with the scent of Stiles' come still on the air. Then Stiles' hand lifts to set over Derek's and Derek feels himself relaxing. Some of the tension leeches from his posture and he sighs, nosing in against Stiles' throat once more. It makes it easier to hear the words - Stiles claiming he wouldn't just disappear, that the pack is important to him, that _Derek_ is important to him - but the silence that follows the statement probably makes it clear that Derek _hadn't_ known that. 

Uncomfortable at the thought of appearing so damn pathetic, Derek grunts a noncommittal answer, but he still tightens his hold on Stiles, letting the knowledge wash over him. Stiles isn't going to just up and leave, or if he does leave for school, it won't be a sudden break. It feels dangerous to hope, but Stiles' pulse is steady, and Derek feels unprepared for how _relieved_ he feels.

"No hiding," Derek confirms, though he still sounds a little like he doesn't know what to do with that information. "Not like we could anyway. It smells like sex in here, and it smells like _us_. Scott would know, and he can't keep quiet about anything." 

There's a roll of his eyes present in Derek's voice, long-suffering, but there's a hint of something _almost_ fond there too. Before he can elaborate, Stiles wiggles a little against his chest and Derek feels the way Stiles' ass moves against the front of Derek's boxers. He shifts his hand lower, pressing on Stiles' stomach as if trying to keep him still. 

"Stiles. It's fine. You're hurt. Besides," he adds wryly, "much as I'm all for _not_ hiding, I don't really want anyone but you to see my dick."

* * *

It's not like things are perfect. Love isn't a cure-all. It's not a panacea by any means. Stiles still has to decide what he's going to do with school and if he does end up moving away... yeah that's gonna suck. It'd complicate things, but it's not like he has to move _far_. There are schools closer to Beacon Hills and Stiles has options. He doesn't necessarily _want_ to go far. It's not just Derek either. Stiles likes his life here. He loves his dad and he loves his friends. Even Jackson and Peter are tolerable most of the time.

Stiles doesn't know what's potentially more damning, talking about heart-boners or mentioning that Derek is legit opening up to him... Either could do it, really. But... somehow, Derek doesn't actually berate him. Instead, a nose is pushed against his throat and Stiles sighs, happily. He likes to think that Derek likes smelling him -- scenting him. Stiles really wants to check out the bruise-slash-bite-mark on his neck, but he doesn't want to disturb and detach from Derek yet. It had been aching moments ago and it just now hits Stiles that Derek must have had a Jesus-Hands moment with him.

Silence meets him until Derek just gives a grunt like a caveman. Maybe Derek hadn't known that Stiles wouldn't have just left and disappeared. Maybe Stiles also needs to speak up once in a while. Derek seems to be on the same page about the no hiding thing (which also means coming clean to his dad, but whatever. Stiles can do it.) A hand coming to his stomach to hold him still is a blatant attempt to stop his ass wiggling and Stiles isn't having it.

Then Derek speaks and gives him his opening. "I don't want anyone seeing your dick either," Stiles retorts. "But we have a good fifteen minutes, so I guess you just gotta be quick. It'll be a challenge!" 

With that decided, Stiles makes to attempt to scramble onto his knees. It's pretty clear that he has his mind set on the task so Derek is pretty much forced to help him lest he injure himself. Stiles is helped to his knees and turns around gingerly on the bed until he's sitting between Derek's legs, sitting cross-legged. 

Stiles raises his left palm to his mouth and slowly licks, making a show of it. "Lets go, big boy. Get the D out for me," he urges. He's still down an arm and he's gotta use his non-dominant hand, too so he'll take whatever help he can get. 

* * *

As much as Derek _likes_ the idea of getting off with Stiles in any capacity, knowing that Scott's going to be here in less than a half an hour does put a damper on things. He can tell that Stiles isn't overly pleased with Derek telling him _no_ , but there's nothing for it. There will be no cleaning up a thick scent as far as werewolves are concerned. It's safer to just not do anything. Besides, Stiles is still hurt and he'll _be_ hurt for awhile. Derek doesn't want him to re-injure himself for something as ridiculous as trying to pay him back, orgasm-for-orgasm.

But 'ridiculous' and Stiles apparently go really well together. Because as soon as Derek has denied him, Stiles seems to get a burst of new energy, quickly yammering that they can just go for it in fifteen minutes if he's quick (which makes Derek scowl in mild indignation). Before Derek can insist that he's really _fine_ , Stiles is already struggling away and scrambling up onto his knees. Derek tries to wrench him back down once, but when he realizes that Stiles is going to keep on wiggling and squirming whether he likes it or not, Derek finally sighs, both annoyed _and_ oddly endeared, and he helps to brace Stiles as he turns around to sit down between Derek's spread legs. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes is one Derek is honestly relieved to see, as it's _Stiles_ through and through.

Then Stiles licks his good hand, slow and obvious, and Derek's dick twitches in interest despite himself. The unimpressed look he gives Stiles after makes it clear that he _knows_ Stiles did that on purpose, but even it falters when Stiles calls him _big boy_ and tells him to _get 'the D' out_. Christ.

Derek grimaces, mutters, " _seriously?_ " under his breath, but after only a second, he complies. Reaching down, Derek pops the button on his jeans and then eases the zipper down. Biting back the small groan that wants to escape at the feeling of his dick no longer being confined, Derek eases his cock out through the front of his boxers. Despite his protests, he's still fully hard ( _somehow…_ ). They've never done this in the light before. Derek's not even sure that Stiles has _seen_ him when it's not been pitch black out. 

"Just... be careful not to hurt yourself."

* * *

So yeah, licking his hand is a little cheesy, but Stiles never claimed to be a suave motherfucker, okay? That will never be him. He's got cheese. He's got lame. He's got sarcasm. These are what he excels at and frankly Derek shouldn't expect anything different. One thing Stiles prides himself in is that he's never pretended to be anyone different. He hadn't censored himself. Stiles hadn't pretended to be less weird or held himself back. Stiles never wants to feel like he isn't good enough just how he is. Stiles wants to be good enough as he is.

What he also wants is is touch Derek's cock. He wants to get Derek off. He's interested in that. And yes, he's aware that their friends are stopping by with breakfast and that they're on a time limit here. Stiles is going to believe that they can do this, though. It shouldn't be that difficult to manage. It's not that he _owes_ this to Derek, but this would be the first time he's touched Derek after the whole _love confession_ and it seems important.

His word choices have Derek only mildly scandalized but thankfully Derek obeys and deals with the whole zipper and freeing his dick thing. Derek may have tried to dissuade him, but Derek's cock is still nice and hard and Stiles is all wide eyed at this somewhat new endeavor. It's new because they're doing this is in broad natural daylight and Stiles can see everything. Stiles tries to not feel daunted by this fact. He can't just stare at Derek's dick and feel floored and lucky about everything (but he wants to). Not even the comment about being careful ruffles him. 

Instead, Stiles licks his palm again and then reaches down and wraps his hand around hardened hot flesh. Somehow it's more arousing than it should be because Derek is able to watch him and Stiles is watching him back... it's hot. Stiles' pulse skips ahead faster as he tries to close a fist around Derek's cock and stroke. It's clear enough that this isn't the normal hand he uses. Stiles' motions aren't as tight or smooth, but Stiles tries his best. 

His eyes flick down between his hand awkwardly jerking Derek off and Derek's face. Stiles knows he could go for the lube but he kinda likes using his spit even if he does have to stop every once in a while to apply more. 

"I like this," Stiles comments. "Need to have, you know, more sexy fun times in the light so I can take it _all_ in." His eyes give Derek an obvious flirty and appraising look. 

* * *

This is such a bad idea, but Derek's mind is already made up. Much as he'd been against this, he can't honestly say that he isn't _all_ for having Stiles' hand on him. Stiles touching him in any way is something he's interested in, though Derek's still pretty damn mindful that Stiles is in pain. He doesn't want Stiles to hurt himself while trying to get him off. If anyone could, it'd be Stiles. But as he watches Stiles lick his palm again and then feels long, deceptively-strong fingers wrap around his dick, Derek can't help the way he half-closes his eyes in pleasure, his hips pressing up just a little. As awful an idea as this is, it's still Stiles touching him. 

As good as the contact feels, though, it quickly becomes apparent that Stiles isn't exactly ambidextrous when it comes to jerking off. His grip is a little sloppy, and his movements are somewhat stilted, undoubtedly awkward due to Stiles' lack of balance. It's still _good_ , don't get him wrong, but as much as Derek hates to admit it, it likely won't be enough to get him off before Scott arrives with the others. 

But it's not bad. It's _really_ not bad when Derek notices that Stiles keeps looking down at his dick and then back up at him. There's something endearing and earnest in the enthusiasm, and Derek's first groan is slightly-softer but still tight. He settles back against the bed, enjoying the attention for what it is, and then even more when Stiles claims that he _likes_ this. Derek glances at him, thoughtful, and then offers a quick smile.

"Next time, when you're feeling better, consider it a done deal," he says, his voice lower and slightly rougher. 

It's not that he doesn't love this, but after a minute or so, Derek reaches out and gently stills Stiles' hand. Letting out a tighter sigh, he wets his lips. "Let me get the lube. If we had more time, I'd let you do this for an _hour_. But unfortunately we don't have an hour." 

Derek's voice is almost apologetic, and he tries to smooth over any indignation by leaning in and catching Stiles' lips in a quick kiss. Then Derek reaches over for where Stiles usually keeps the lube, then prompts Stiles to hold out his hand. Derek pours a little in and helps him slick it around, then - with one hand pressed against the back of Stiles' - Derek guides his hand back down to his cock.

But when Stiles' fingers wrap around him again, Derek pauses, thinks for a second, and then wraps his own hand around Stiles', a little harder. Derek looks at him, then reaches out and pulls Stiles in even closer. 

"This okay?"

* * *

A time constraint isn't necessarily bad. It just keeps them focused on the task, on the goal. The goal? To stroke Derek off and get him to come and also make a mess. All the messes! If they're going to 'come out' they might as well be reeking of sex and success, okay. It's _healthy_ to be sexually active and Stiles _is_ proud of them. He doesn't plan on hiding anything. But does Stiles plan on having them smell like come and sex when his _dad_ gets home? Hell naw. But the pack can definitely handle it. It's not like Erica or Jackson ever try to be subtle, so why should they?

So Stiles tries his best but it's actually rather awkward. He hadn't believed it would be this difficult to jerk it with his left hand but it's turning out to not be going the greatest. Stiles still tries his best as he pumps his left hand up and down and when Derek mentions a _next time,_ Stiles smiles big, dimples forming. The very idea of doing something - anything - during the daylight and being able to see every response Derek gives? It's exciting! Stiles feels giddy -- or at least he would if he could manage to stroke Derek properly. 

Stiles can't even get upset when Derek sees fit to stop him and get the lube and he can't fault Derek on that. Lube is magical and wonderful and Stiles' handjob skills are severely lacking at the moment and any help is appreciated. Derek opens and squeezes a small portion out and smears it around his palm. Derek goes one step further and guides his hand back down. Stiles looks up as Derek wraps his hand around Stiles' own and it's clear that Derek is going to help with this pursuit and... Okay, it's still hot. And actually kind of sweet too. 

"Yeah, it's good," Stiles says softly. "It's more than good." Stiles' tongue slips out and he licks his lips. Derek helps him move and together they slide his now-slick hand over Derek's cock. "'You know," Stiles begins. "I was thinking... We're pretty good at the fucking thing, yeah?" Stiles laughs a little as Derek's hand tightens over his and they move a little faster. "We should probably practice the making love thing next... if you wanna."

What he's admitting... it makes Stiles feel a little nervous because fucking and hot sex is what they've always done (and excelled at if he does say so himself) but Stiles thinks the two of them deserve something slow and sweet maybe. They haven't had sex since admitting _love._

* * *

Derek doesn't think that Stiles touching his dick could ever be _bad_ , but they do need to keep to a time limit here and they've already lost a few minutes now. As much as he'd like to just let Stiles touch him, to let him explore, there's no time. He wants to feel the difference - wants to know if there will _be_ a difference - between how they'd acted and touched before and how they will now that they're both on the same page. And maybe there's a part of Derek that's still tempted to growl out obscenities and dirty praise, but he doesn't. It's his default setting, and Stiles... Stiles isn't _default_. He never has been. 

Next time he'll let Stiles take his time. Next time _he'll_ take his time. But for now, as Derek begins to guide Stiles' hand over his dick in careful strokes, feeling the familiar cadence but the unfamiliar hand, he doesn't even try. He feels the first real jolt of pleasure, enough that it punches a soft sound from the back of his throat. Derek looks down, watching as the head of his dick pokes out from Stiles' closed fist on every stroke, his own hand wrapped around Stiles' own, guiding him. 

It's strangely hot. Derek had thought it might feel a lot like jerking off on his own, but it doesn't. He's still acutely aware that this is _Stiles_. It's Stiles' touch, Stiles' hand, Stiles' warmth, and Stiles' scent. Derek breathes it in deeply as he guides their hands over his cock and he fights the urge to jerk his hips up into the touch.

He doesn't know how long it's been by the time that Stiles pipes up thoughtfully (except he knows it _hasn't_ been fifteen minutes) but while Derek pays attention, he's also beginning to get close. Pleasure has tightened a knot deep inside of his stomach, a low, hot, pleasurable feeling that aches and has already started to spread out into his limbs. His breath is quicker and slightly hitched as Stiles' hand moves over his cock. 

Derek only manages a half-nod when Stiles implies that they're good at _fucking_ , and his hand tightens and quickens the pace, because _fuck_ , yes, they're good at fucking. Stiles is always so damn tight around him, clinging and clutching and quickly getting overstimulated. Derek groans tightly, breathing out a half-choked, " _Stiles_ ," and then Stiles goes on.

The words 'making love' are not words that Derek has ever applied to himself before. It's not something he's done. But no sooner has Stiles almost shyly suggested it then Derek's mind is flooded with the image of it. He stills in surprise, meeting Stiles' eyes, and the thought of being able to see Stiles' brown eyes rich and dark in extended pleasure, the thought of having him grab desperately for a different reason, the thought of Stiles shuddering out an intense orgasm under him... it strikes him all at once. 

Derek's orgasm slams into him so suddenly that he doesn't even have time to tense up. It just hits him, shocking a startled gasp from his lips as the first line of come shoots from his slit, his hips jerking up sharply into the tunnel of their combined fists. Derek's pleasure crashes over him in a wave and he curses, encouraging Stiles to rub at the underside of his cock as he spills out over Stiles' hand wetly, breathless, the thought of _making love_ with Stiles still on his mind. He's so startled by the suddenness of his orgasm that he forgets to answer, but given his _physical_ reaction... it's likely answer enough.

* * *

It's kind of sweet to be jerking Derek off together. Stiles thinks maybe he'd like to try it in reverse. Could be fun. But the thing is, the thing is... This thing between them isn't _just_ about fun. Stiles knows that now. Yeah, he's had a lot of fun. _They've_ had a lot of fun and while it hasn't been perfect (case in point the last few times with their disagreements), Stiles knows that they've both immensely enjoyed the sex. They're rockstars of messing around with each other.

But Stiles wants more than just fucking. They're both used to hard and fast and while Stiles has no complaints about that kind of pace, Derek deserves more than being some porn fantasy. So he makes the suggestion and Derek's hand momentarily stops. Their eyes meet and Stiles wishes that a single look could convey all his feelings because right now all Stiles wants to do is express how much he loves Derek and how much he admires him for always trying despite the rather dismal luck at times. Stiles wants Derek to feel loved and appreciated and he wants that to be translated into how their bodies move somehow.

Stiles has never made love before. It seems like a bad movie cliche, but that's what Stiles wants for the both of them. And given how stunned Derek looks, Stiles assumes it's the same for Derek. They both haven't done it.

Then unexpectedly, Derek is coming with a startled gasp as his hips push up into their slick grasp. Their hands get slicker, come added to the mix and as Stiles is pretty much leaning over, Stiles gets treated to some remnants hitting his chin and cheek. Stiles isn't even concerned because he's so focused on being able to see Derek come so intensely and he's practically captivated by the sight, greedy for every little detail.

"Going to take that as a yes," Stiles murmurs after Derek seems to have calmed a little. There's an impish little grin on his face but it's not malicious in any way.

* * *

The thought tears over Derek's senses like a sharp set of claws, biting and grabbing and intense. It mingles with the intensity of orgasm and leaves Derek practically breathless with the need of it as pleasure crashes and pulses and almost stings along his senses. Stiles' hand is a perfect grip, slick with lube and come, and somehow the touch is no longer awkward, not with how much Derek's arousal has _surged_ to the forefront of his mind. He shakes and shudders, his lips parted, eyes dark, and he watches with barely-restrained desire as some of his come shoots up onto Stiles' face, streaking across his chin and cheek, and the sight of it makes something in Derek's stomach all but flip over itself.

He's shuddering when sensitivity finally eases down over him, panting his pleasure, and though no part of him wants Stiles to let go, Derek reluctantly takes his hand away and brings Stiles' with it, leaving his dick a bit of a mess of lube and his own come. But all Derek sees is Stiles, with his impish little grin and the brightness of amusement and want in his eyes. Suddenly Derek almost hates that Scott is going to be here soon, that Erica and Jackson will be intruding in on this, because the desire to push Stiles onto his back and kiss him for fucking _hours_ is strong. It burns in his senses, lingering and sharp.

"Yeah," Derek manages, sounding breathless, his voice a lower rasp. "Yeah, that's a yes. Fuck, Stiles..." Derek leans in then, and there's no hesitation in him when he kisses Stiles. Derek catches his lips, deep at first, then he draws back to something a little more chaste, but with more _feeling_. He feels a little ridiculous, but that'll go away in time. And when he breaks the kiss, it's to draw back and admire the look on Stiles' face. 

That hot little twist of something possessive eases through him again and - without thinking - he presses the pad of his thumb to Stiles' cheek and rubs a little of the come in against his skin. Then he leans in and his tongue finds the wetness under Stiles' chin. It tastes awful, but no come ever tastes _good_. It's the act of it that Derek likes, even if it's weird to be tasting himself indirectly.

"We don't have much longer. How's your shoulder?"

* * *

Stiles loves his friends, he does. Well. He doesn't necessarily love Jackson or Erica, but Scott. He definitely loves Scott. And he likes Erica. Jackson? He tolerates Jackson. Anyway, of course breakfast and coffee sound great (he is hungry), but Stiles is also in the freakin' honeymoon stage of their recently expressed feelings thing. He doesn't feel like having to socialize and put on clothes and _ugh._ But he knows that they're just worried about him and trying to help and yay friendship and wolf pack friends.

Derek isn't very literate. There's a yeah, another one, a yes, a fuck and then his name and then oh-- there's a kiss. Somehow Stiles doesn't care how literate Derek is or isn't because kissing Derek is great. It's not filthy this time either, it's... meaningful? Maybe that's the difference. It means something and when Derek pulls away, hazel eyes looking over him, Stiles thinks he likely has the dopiest expression on his face. 

Man, he loves being in love now that he knows the guy he loves loves him back. Go love!

Then a thumb lifts and smears some come into his skin and Stiles is screwing up his face, momentarily confused until Derek cleans up the other splotch on his chin, and huh, maybe it's kind of hot. Maybe it's like marking? Stiles is all set to ask about it when Derek beats him to it and asks him about his shoulder. 

"Oh, I think I'll keep it," Stiles answers cheekily. Derek doesn't look overly impressed but after checking the time on his phone they get their asses in gear and get cleaned up. Time to socialize and coffee it up.


	6. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kisses back because it's easier than talking, than acknowledging, and when the kiss breaks, Derek shudders and leans in, hiding his face against Stiles' shoulder as he grinds out Stiles' name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (｡’▽’｡)♡ ZE END! 
> 
> Glorious fluff & smut for you all and now a sequel is in progress too (bc we love these fuckers), subscribe to the series to be notified when we start posting on it. Leave it to us to write a big ass chapter that's almost half the size of the fic up until this point...
> 
> Stiles written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Derek written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

Derek helps Stiles change out of his boxers and helps him dress, the one sleeve of his t-shirt just hanging unoccupied as the sling is under the shirt. Derek is back in yesterday's clothing. They can't do much in terms of smelling or looking more presentable and less like 'hey we both just got off heh', but they brush their teeth (Derek only looks mildly wigged out and the thought of sharing a toothbrush) and they splash water on their faces and hair. Good enough.

When the doorbell is sounding, they're at least down in the kitchen and Stiles is setting down napkins on the table. He shoots Derek a 'here goes nothing' look and walks to his front door.

Upon opening it, all three werewolves immediately sniff and their reactions are kind of priceless. Scott looks stunned. Erica looks amused. Jackson looks unimpressed. Stiles feels Derek behind him and he instinctively leans against Derek as if seeking support and wanting to let Derek hide a little.

"See, told youuuuu," Erica beams and elbows Scott playfully. Thankfully Scott doesn't drop any of the coffees he's holding in a carry-out tray. "Peter was right and _I_ knew that there was some gay longing between the two of them."

"Gay what?" Scott squawks, eyes wide. "You didn't tell me you were gay!"

"I'm not gay," Stiles shoots back with a roll of his eyes, fondly exasperated

"The smell on the both of you says otherwise," Jackson supplies unhelpfully.

"Bisexual. _Bi_ sexual. We exist. Now hurry up and get in here. You guys look like weird youth missionaries standing out there."

* * *

It doesn't take too long to clean up after the moment in bed, but that's more because Derek knows that nothing will ever be enough to keep the pack from figuring out what they'd done. He doesn't try to hide it, but he _does_ help Stiles change his clothes. He's efficient about it, and outwardly he probably looks a little uncaring, but he's cautious as he helps Stiles slide his shirt back on, and he lends Stiles a shoulder to brace himself as he steps back into a fresh pair of boxers. Derek helps him dress, and he helps Stiles get his toothbrush ready after. And yes, he _absolutely_ makes a protest when he's expected to use the same one after, but it's mild. Derek's just taken by how... domestic this feels, and he feels a little like he's walking on a cloud as he helps Stiles downstairs.

Derek can't remember the last time he'd been outside of Stiles' bedroom. He doesn't know where the dishes are in the kitchen, and so he lets Stiles direct him to where the napkins are (and quickly looks through the cupboards to familiarize himself in the off chance this isn't a one-off) and he lets Stiles do what he wants with the napkins. Stiles seems perfectly content to putter around, but Derek's attention is caught by how Stiles smells. The scent of _Derek's_ come is still on his skin, and Derek knows he likely smells like Stiles too. It's a good feeling, and seeing the mark on Stiles' neck makes him want to preen.

Then the doorbell rings and Derek freezes. He and Stiles share a look and Derek tightly resigns himself to a very awkward conversation as he follows Stiles to the door. He can hear the others on the other side of the door, and Derek doesn't even register his expression settling in on pinched and defensive until Stiles opens the door and the moment is impossible to change.

Erica looks amused, and Jackson looks both strained and a little disgusted, which Derek isn't surprised by. But the look on Scott's face _almost_ makes up for how the next few hours will probably go. Derek tenses, glaring, but it takes Stiles leaning back against him to realize how defensive he's acting. Though it is an effort, he manages to relax some, and he doesn't protest as the others talk, though Derek's eyebrows do raise suddenly at the knowledge that _Peter_ has apparently been expecting this. The bastard...

Derek takes it until Jackson's comment. Then his eyes narrow again, he places a hand on Stiles' good shoulder, and he eases him away from the door. Then, proving that old habits never really die, Derek jerks a thumb inside with a low growl. " _In_. You're here to visit, not gossip."

Scott still looks stunned, but Erica seems to take Derek's growling in stride. She straightens, flashes him a bright smile that he doesn't buy for a second, then strides in with a loud click of heels. Jackson looks less sure but Derek's glare eventually makes him slink in as well, though he looks mutinous about it. Given the way his nose wrinkles, Derek's claim is still very evident.

"Oooh, _nice_ ," Erica chimes up once everyone is inside. Her eyes are bright as she gestures to her neck, grinning. "You got a little something there, Stiles."

"He knows," Derek deadpans back, closing the door and leading Stiles into the kitchen with one hand on his arm. Then he glances back at Scott, and for a second something pinches on his face. Scott isn't really _part_ of his pack, much as Derek would like that to change.

He still points at the table. "Put those down before you spill something."

* * *

Wow. It's really happening. No more hiding. No more sneaking around. No more scrambling to dispose of the 'evidence'. Right now they're apparently covered in evidence. Stiles can't smell it, but the werewolves can. For once, Stiles is glad he can't smell anything. Right now his perceived weakness is his strength, so there. HA.

Stiles likes the touch paid to his shoulder. It's a simple thing, really, but Derek has never nice-touched him in public before. Well, semi-public. Or at least in front of their friends. Derek growls an order to get in and one by one they filter back inside Stiles' house. Shoes and high heels are removed and Erica points out his bite-bruise-hickey mark to which Stiles just waggles his eyebrows at her, obviously not chagrined in the least.

Derek's scathing remark is amusing if nothing else and Derek almost possessively leads him back to the kitchen while their company follows behind. Stiles likes this. It's different, but not bad. He's sure it will take some adjustment and he knows Derek isn't going to likely be comfortable being too mushy around the pack, but Stiles is going to just have to be sneaky.

The tray of drinks is set down and then a bag of fresh assorted muffins joins it on top of the table. Stiles points to the cupboard with plates and Derek fetches them as they all come to sit around the table. Jackson, obviously wanting his coffee, begins handing out the drinks to the appropriate individual.

"So, how's the pain?" Scott asks as he takes a chocolate chip muffin and begins peeling the wrapper back.

Stiles is only half paying attention as he hungrily eyes the assortment of muffins available. He could do blueberry, but there's also banana nut which is equally tempting.

"Not that bad, honestly," Stiles answers as he decides on blueberry and plucks the muffin somewhat awkwardly before placing it on his plate. "Derek Jesus-Wolf Hands the pain away if it gets too bad. Great perk for dating a werewolf and all." To be a shit, he leans over and rests his head on Derek's shoulder.

"That actually works on you?" Jackson asks before bringing the cup of whatever overpriced shit Jackson prefers to drink to his mouth.

It's only then Stiles glances around the table and notices the surprise evident on their features.

"Obviously? Why wouldn't it?"

Erica smirks and grabs a double chocolate muffin. She gives Derek an odd look which has Stiles sitting up. "Why don't ya tell him, 'o fearless leader?"

"Tell him - _me_ \- what?"

"What it _means,_ " Erica says as she picks a chocolate chip off the top of her muffin and pops it into her mouth. She's enjoying his confusion far too much for Stiles' liking, but that's nothing new.

* * *

It's uncomfortable. That's all Derek can think of as the others file in. Scott keeps sending him little looks, Erica is _very_ obviously pleased, Derek's half-tempted to throw Jackson over the counter for his wrinkled nose, and Derek knows he's going to throw Peter into a wall when he gets back to the loft. This is it, no more hiding. But just because he's not hiding doesn't mean he has to like _this_ part of it.

Stiles, to his credit, doesn't look put out or awkward. He's all grins and wiggling eyebrows, and he looks like he's focusing more on the muffins than on the fact that his best friend now knows precisely what he'd done with his-- ... boyfriend? only a few minutes ago. Derek is not so lucky, but thankfully Erica's comments seem to be more aimed at Stiles than at him. Derek still eyes the others until Stiles points out the plates, then he reluctantly turns and gets them down to set on the table. The muffins aren't quite enough to hold Derek's attention when Jackson keeps sending him 'covert' looks, but he's trying.

He'd promised Stiles. It's only now that Derek's realizing what that _means_. But as he stands there, no matter how stiff, he can't say he'd take it back if he could. Stiles looks happy.

Derek's reluctantly reaching for the coffee Jackson offers him when Scott just up and throws a wrench into everything. Derek freezes, almost drops the coffee (much to Jackson's biting irritation) and his eyes widen the second before Stiles eases closer and rests his head on his shoulder. Derek stands rigidly, willing the others to _stay silent_ , but when he sees even Erica's eyes widen in surprise, Derek loses that hope.

His expression tightens defensively as Erica's shock fades into a knowing tease, and he's tempted to throw his coffee at her out of spite when her obvious look gets Stiles' attention. Derek's jaw sets and he looks at Jackson - who's looking at him with a mixture of accusation and annoyance - and then at Scott, who looks like he doesn't know _how_ to react.

But there's nothing for it now. Much as Derek wants to take it all back, he can't say he hadn't been expecting this in some way. He sighs loudly, then finally slides a look over at Stiles. Behind Stiles, Derek's hand rests on the small of his back, initiating _some_ contact even if it still feels weird to do it in front of people (especially people like Erica, who definitely notice).

"Pack healing doesn't work if you're not _pack_ on an instinctual level," he says, and he tries to sound gruff, but it just sounds awkward. "Contact helps lessen pain, but... I couldn't just walk into a hospital and take pain _away_. I can only do that for my Betas." He pointedly does not look at Scott.

* * *

Stiles doesn't think it's going that badly. His dad is probably going to be a little more awkward, but it won't be bad-bad. He's not going to get kicked out of his house. His dad's actually a pretty reasonable guy and Stiles is damn lucky to have him. Coming out as a couple is probably supposed to have an edge of awkwardness present. At least that's always how it happens in the cheesy teen movies that Stiles only _occasionally_ watches when he's feeling sick. (Hey, some of them are classics.)

He can tell that Derek is less than thrilled by this whole thing. Stiles knows that Derek is still trying to figure out the whole Alpha-leading-a-pack thing and it's only _now_ that Stiles is realizing how much of a weight that likely is. They're not an easy crowd to wrangle - Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Peter, sometimes Scott. They each have their own distinctive personalities. Maybe Stiles should go a little easier on Derek.

But right now it looks like Derek has some explaining to do about the magical healing hands business. Stiles momentarily has a streak of panic-fear slice through him because what if this is bad somehow? There's already secrets being revealed? That can't be good and Derek is tense--

Stiles glances around but no one else seems crazily bothered. When Derek's hand comes to rest on the lower part of his back Stiles instinctively relaxes and tries not to think the worst is about to happen.

The worst doesn't happen as Derek explains what it _means_. And what it means is that Stiles isn't just some human mascot, he's a part of Derek's pack and how awesome is that? It's significant. It's amazing. It's meaningful--

"Ugh, I can practically see the excitement oozing out of him," Jackson comments with an eye roll as he takes a drink. "He's so earnest."

"Hey, this _is_ exciting!" Stiles retorts, bumping his head against Derek's shoulder in recognition. He then turns to Scott, "You should officially join up then you could all like do a daisy-chain of taking each other's pain away--"

Scott doesn't seem to agree as he interrupts, "What the hell man, why are you so weird?" There is an exasperated-but-fond Scott McCall smile on his friend's face so Stiles doesn't mind. It feels good to be joking. It feels good to be close to Derek and not have to pretend.

"These boys _wish_ they could do any sort of daisy-chain with me," Erica chimes in.

Stiles snorts. Scott looks torn between mortification and amusement and Jackson looks thoroughly unimpressed as tries valiantly to change topics by asking about Boyd.

Stiles is grinning as he gets up on his tiptoes to whisper into Derek's ear, "You're our Alpha Daddy. Can't get rid of us."

* * *

And as it turns out, Derek _can't_ get rid of them. Not that he tries very hard.

Oh, he definitely tries to antagonize Peter as soon as word gets back to his uncle about Derek's newfound relationship (likely through Erica, and Derek definitely makes her run more drills than he should in _any_ capacity over the next few weeks) but despite Derek's constant snapping and glaring, Peter's smirk never dies. In the times between snarling matches, when Derek is turning away, sometimes he swears that there's a glint of something like satisfaction in his uncle, but it's gone when Derek turns to look.

Peter is easily the most difficult to deal with. Scott, while he makes faces at Derek for a week, and seems a little unsure of where to stand when it comes to him and Stiles, eventually finds his place again. Derek takes him aside just once after noticing that Scott has been hanging back, and he promptly cuffs the idiot on the back of his head, growls, "you're still his best friend, so act like it," and that seems to settle things.

Scott's back to feeling comfortable then, around both Stiles _and_ Isaac (and seriously, Derek should do something about that) and life goes on. Erica keeps demanding details that make Derek almost want to blush, but Boyd merely sends Derek a slow nod of understanding as soon as the information comes out. Isaac looks fine with it, and Jackson only complains when Stiles smells overtly like sex, but otherwise he holds his tongue.

The sheriff... the sheriff is another matter. They'll tell him eventually, though Derek suspects that he already has some sort of inkling. Given that over the next few weeks, Derek makes a point of stopping by to check in on Stiles more often than not, he's not being subtle. And while the sheriff's eyes narrow now and then, he doesn't protest because Stiles certainly seems happy.

Derek takes Stiles to and from appointments for his shoulder when his dad is working, though lets Scott do it more than once. Derek's around for the 'Jesus Hands' (christ...) and while they don't _do_ much because Derek refuses to accidentally hurt Stiles, they're not exactly celibate either.

It's a good month later and then some when the doctor and physiotherapist finally clear Stiles to continue with his exercises but otherwise claim he's returned to normal functioning. Derek _and_ Scott are there for that one, and Derek hangs back to let Scott get the first hug in, then makes a point (regardless of how awkward he feels) of holding Stiles' hand on the way back out to the car.

And it's as Scott is chattering away that Derek leans in close to Stiles' ear and murmurs, "the loft. Tonight," and then carries on.

The loft has been miraculously cleared out that evening. Isaac is still staying with Scott (and he's honestly being near-insufferable whenever Scott is brought up. Derek _really_ has to do something about that...) and Peter had 'helpfully' chosen to stay at his apartment. So Derek finally has the space to himself when he hears Stiles' Jeep - that he's finally been cleared to drive alone - roll up to the street. Derek tenses against a small blip of nerves, but it doesn't take him long to settle again. Yes, he feels ridiculous, because he still doesn't _do_ this well, but he's Stiles'... _something_. That means a little celebration is in order.

So when Derek opens the door for Stiles, before Stiles can say a damn thing, Derek rushes in with a warning of, " _don't_ mention any of this. But... come in." And then he steps aside, revealing a few boxes of pizza, a good liter of soda, and the fact that he'd moved the couch a little closer to a TV that he _certainly_ hadn't had before. Derek's scowl is defensive, but he still reaches out to touch Stiles' shoulder.

* * *

He may have a shoulder on the mend, but life goes on. Of course, it takes a little bit of time for their friends to adjust and see that nothing really has changed, but mostly it's fine. Stiles suspects it's harder for Derek. Pack dynamics and Alpha bullshit. Or something. Stiles doesn't think Derek is embarrassed by him... It's just Derek is like a baby deer on wobbly legs learning how to walk. This relationship is new for Derek. Stiles gets it. It's not that _he_ has a lot of experience in dating either because the only girlfriends he's had were like, the kind you never actually kissed because he was too young. This is Stiles' first serious relationship but unlike Derek, he's actually done some research. The Internet is helpful and same with message boards and anonymity.

Stiles doubts that Derek has asked anyone for any advice either. Frankly, who would Derek even talk to? Erica? Jackson? Peter? Stiles doesn't want to know what they would say. So maybe they will figure it out as they go and truthfully Stiles is okay with that. It doesn't need to be some fairytale romance. Derek isn't a perfect Prince and he sure as hell isn't the fair maiden waiting to be saved.

He gets teased and while Derek often doesn't know how to deal with it, Stiles just gives it right back. He has thick skin, he's used to giving verbal ripostes.

Despite being down an arm, Stiles _is_ happy. Appointments and physio suck, but he has Derek and Scott and the pack. Sometimes he honestly pinches himself because seriously, how is this his life?

When he's cleared, all Stiles wants to do is jerk off immediately followed by doing everything that he hasn't been able to do. Instead of that, he hugs Scott and then Derek and Stiles can't help the way his heart skips a beat when Derek whispers to him. It's going to be a date or Derek wouldn't have whispered.

Stiles gets thoroughly ready. He soaps up twice, scrubs every nook and cranny, fingers himself with one finger because he hasn't been able to do that and it's been a while. He only gets out of the shower when he starts to prune-up. He styles his hair, goes for a pair of red jeans and a black and red striped t-shirt that clings to him just right and even dons a belt because nothing feels more adult than a belt. He still wears sneakers and a grey zip-up hoodie because he's still Stiles.

God, he's practically vibrating with excitement because they're totally going to have victory accomplishment sex.

And then his boyfriend opens the door and a warning is given. Stiles gapes at the set up when it's revealed to him. It's pretty much the most thoughtful-slash-romantic thing Derek has ever done for the two of them. It's so _normal_ but Stiles actually appreciates it. He comes inside, slips off his shoes, removes his hoodie then beams up at Derek.

i"This is awesome! And I'm totally mentioning our pizza date to everybodyyyyy," Stiles announces as he makes his way to the food. "They're gonna be so disgusted by the level of detail I go into. Like, how you gazed upon me with such adoration as I chewed sexily on my pizza." A playful wink is given over his shoulder.

* * *

The moment that Derek sees Stiles, he both wants to shove him out the door and pretend like he hadn't spent an hour getting everything ready and he wants to stare, because he's never seen those jeans on Stiles before, and the quick glimpse he gets is enough to tell him that it's almost unfair. He stares for as long as he's able, then Stiles speaks up and Derek almost guiltily makes himself pay attention, looking up as Stiles slips off his shoes and his hoodie and then smiles at Derek so clearly that Derek feels something flip unhelpfully in his chest. He swallows; the red and black shirt and jeans look _good_ together, but Stiles' smile is all joy and it makes Derek feel less stupid about the whole thing.

Feeling a little more calm, he lets Stiles walk inside. Derek closes the door behind them (and locks it for good measure) and then turns, trailing after Stiles and breathing him in. He smells the familiar shower gel that Stiles always uses, but there's a hint of something else. Lube? Derek's gotten pretty damn good at smelling _that_ over time. Which then leads into thoughts of what Stiles had used it for, and Derek has to forcibly give his head a shake before he follows Stiles to the sofa.

With a small roll of his eyes, Derek reaches out and lightly taps the back of Stiles' head. It's a playful cuff if ever there was one.

"I don't know if 'adoration' is the right word," Derek says dryly, though he does reach out and wind an arm around Stiles' waist before he can sit down. And, yeah, maybe it's cheating a little, but Derek leans in and scrapes his teeth over the back of Stiles' neck, slower and obvious. Then he turns Stiles around and leans in, kissing him chastely.

When he draws back, Derek looks somewhat pleased with himself. Smirking, he nods at Stiles and then gestures to the couch, giving him a small (careful) playful shove. "I thought you'd like it. Figured a little celebration might be in order now that your shoulder's feeling better. It _is_ okay, right?" Derek adds, with a sidelong look as he takes a seat on the couch.

* * *

Derek manhandling him is totally cheating, but Stiles doesn't mind. He puts up no protest as Derek's arm reaches out to wrap around him and god, he likes Derek's teeth on his skin. A shiver races down his spine and Stiles can't help but think of more claiming marks that Derek could leave him. He knows he's not supposed to be getting horny this quick, but have you seen his boyfriend? Literal sex god in the flesh. A gentle kiss is pressed to his lips and Stiles feels his stomach flutter and it's lame but he loves it. What's wrong with lame? Nothing. That's what.

There's an easiness that has developed between them, their banter is less barbed, more fond, and Stiles fucking loves it too. It's been well-fought. They fucking deserve this and Stiles is all grins as he takes off in the direction of the couch after Derek's gentle push.

"Yes, mom," Stiles deadpans as he comes to settle beside Derek. "Not quite good as new, but good as we can hope," he adds in reference to his shoulder.

The next hours fly by with them munching on pizza, drinking coke and watching The Goonies because Stiles will no longer stand for Derek not understanding the greatness of Spielberg's 1985 masterpiece. And he kind of thinks the pack is like a modern day Goonies -- a ragtag family put together.

Derek is... not entirely blown away, but he tolerates the movie. There are funny lines and action and every dude likes treasure hunting and pirate ships. They're just cool. They kiss only when Stiles allows them to (because he doesn't want Derek to miss anything), but most of the time they're pretty cuddled into each other and Stiles drinks it up happily. When the credits roll on, Stiles carefully pushes away the table with pizza and drinks.

He doesn't care to pack up the leftovers immediately. Instead, Stiles climbs onto Derek's lap and comes to whisper into his boyfriend's ear, "I know you like what I'm wearing, but I promise you that you'll _also_ like what's underneath."

* * *

Maybe Derek really isn't much of a movie buff, but that doesn't mean that he's not willing to do it for Stiles. Yes, the moment that Stiles tells him what he wants to watch, Derek looks at him a little like he's joking, but it quickly becomes clear to him that Stiles is dead serious. Derek blinks, ready to protest, but then he sees the look of delight in Stiles' eyes, the raw excitement at sharing one of their first real date nights, and Derek's uncertainty fades. Instead he allows himself to offer up a small smile, thin as it is, and settles on the couch.

They sit mostly together, sharing space, and Derek helps himself to the pizza as they watch the movie. It's not really something Derek would seek out on his own, but it's not _bad_. What does it for him is watching the way Stiles' eyes light up as he watches, and Derek finds himself relaxing and more watching Stiles than the movie. At least until Stiles inevitably catches him and makes him pay attention again. Even that is endearing enough, though.

It's when the credits are still rolling that Stiles finally makes a move. Derek isn't really expecting it, but then, this movie hadn't really been great for touching. So maybe he's a little incredulous as Stiles just up and climbs up onto his lap. And yes, it's hot. Stiles looks _really_ good, and Derek feels a little dizzy with how badly he wants to cup Stiles' ass in his hands and squeeze, but even so...

"Not that that's not hot, but are you really putting the moves on after watching a bunch of kids for an hour?" Derek asks, deadpan, but there's a note of clear fondness and teasing in his voice that likely softens the blow.

He reaches over for the remote and turns the TV off, then sets it down and his hand rather indulgently finds Stiles' ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. His small smirk says it all. "You're planning something. I know the look."

* * *

God, he loves that Derek can joke more freely with him. Stiles may love the sexy-fun stuff, but he thinks he loves just being around Derek and chilling out with him more. The actual friendship-part (which is super cheesy, he knows, but he's not advertising that). And sometimes the tone Derek uses is so close to his not joking voice that it has Stiles quirking an eyebrow in consideration, but he _usually_ figures it out. Usually.

"They're not kids anymore," Stiles grins, dimples showing. He's pretty sure no movie could dampen his sexual prowess (not that he wants to test that theory). The TV is turned off and Stiles wiggles happily as a large hand comes to his ass and feels him up appreciatively. If he could have his eyes turned into animated hearts, he's sure he'd be right there.

The question has Stiles' grin only widening as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "It's the best look, 'innit?" He leans forward and brushes his lips against Derek's softly. "To the bedroom, my good man. Carry me!"

He's pretty sure Derek gives some disparaging comment that involves being called a _Princess_ but Stiles just clings to him, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist. He tucks his head into Derek's neck while Derek easily lifts him up and does just that.

* * *

It's still surreal that this isn't just some dream, as corny as that sounds. Derek still doesn't know what went right to get him to this point. He knows a shit ton of wrong he did, but that Stiles can beam at him wide enough that it looks almost painful, and that Stiles can press in close and joke around with him makes something in Derek's instincts howl. Sensation slides through him as Stiles teases him, smiling, touching, and kissing him, and Derek can't put a name to it. He just knows that he only ever feels this with Stiles, especially when they're like this.

Maybe they hadn't been able to do much touching over the past few weeks, but they've done what they'd really needed to do. Despite Stiles' loud complaints about being restricted _sexually_ , they'd spent a fair bit of time talking and carefully picking through the new grounds of their relationship. Even now Derek can hardly believe that he's actually in a relationship with Stiles. And what's more, he can't believe that it feels so... easy. He'd always assumed 'easy' wasn't in his cards. Now he has a long-limbed teenager kissing him and then boldly demanding to be carried, and Derek rolls his eyes, but the look in his eyes is soft.

He does as he's told, though not before muttering, "yes, _Princess_ , whatever you say." Lifting Stiles effortlessly, Derek carries him to his bedroom, and it strikes him that aside from a few times where Stiles had been exhausted post-physiotherapy and Derek had cautiously let him nap in his bed, Stiles hasn't actually been _in_ here.

It's nothing special, the walls and floor bare save for a discount-dresser and an end table that don't match. The bed is more a massive mess of blankets than anything structured, but that means Derek has no guilt when he walks Stiles over to the bed, smirks at him, and then suddenly gives him a small bump with his arms, dropping him unceremoniously down onto the mattress.

He's still careful of Stiles' shoulder, dropping him in the thickest pile of blankets, and Derek joins him a moment later, easing down on top of him to steal a kiss that is initially chaste, and then isn't.

* * *

This is Stiles' life. This is _their_ life and it's a great life. It really is. Things can get dangerous, sure. Beacon Hills is likely always going to be a damn beacon for trouble, but they have each other and Stiles isn't going anywhere. They're pack. A _family_ , and Stiles knows that it's only a matter of time before Scott really joins them all and then things will be perfect. Well, not perfect because have you looked at them? There's no way the pack could be perfect. They're all young and opinionated and clashes happen, but it keeps things interesting.

And maybe Stiles feels a bit like a princess with Derek hoisting him up, holding him and relocating them to Derek's bedroom, but as long as he doesn't have to wear a dress or sing to animals, whatever. He hasn't been in Derek's bedroom very much (but that's going to change). Stiles knows it's pretty devoid of personality but give Stiles time, he thinks he can get that to change too. Get a poster or two up, maybe even a plant that doesn't require much care.

With no warning, Derek drops him like a sack of potatoes (weird saying) onto the bed. Stiles gives a playful but indignant squawk. But he settles onto the bed, still feeling dreamy-happy and Derek joins him, settling on top of him. And this is what Stiles likes: the sturdy, comforting weight of Derek, familiar and yeah, perfect. Their mouths meet and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek, his hands roaming over a well-defined back. It starts light, Derek kissing softly, teasing almost and Stiles feels his body ramping up, eager and responsive as ever. Stiles loses himself a little, kissing and luxuriating in the heat and intimacy as Derek starts to get dirtier. He's already so fucking hard, grinding into Derek until Stiles remembers what he actually wants.

So he pulls away from the kiss with a gasp. "Hey, hey," Stiles mumbles, lips slick as he pats Derek on the shoulder. "Let's try something different tonight, yeah? Remember how, after the sling, I talked about going slow?" Somehow it really seems difficult to say _making love_ so he's going to try and avoid that for now. "Let's do that? Take our time." Stiles bites his bottom lip after, hoping Derek's on board.

* * *

There's something so damn calming about kissing Stiles. Now that they're no longer in a rush or determined to stay quiet (and how novel is _that_ ) Derek can enjoy himself. Before, they'd never kissed for any other sake than quickly getting off in the dark, hands clasped over mouths and skin slapping against skin as they'd fucked. Now, over the past few weeks, they've tried more. Derek has kissed Stiles for the sake of kissing him, and while initially it had been a little awkward and fumbling, and Derek had been _far_ too guilty every time Stiles had winced at his shoulder, they've settled into something much more relaxed. Now Derek knows the way Stiles likes having his lower lip nibbled at that gets him squirming, but he _also_ knows the sequence of kisses and hair-stroking that gets Stiles to eventually drift off to sleep on Derek's shoulder.

They're still learning but they're learning together. So as Derek kisses Stiles now, as he basks in the sight and the scent of Stiles that wraps around his senses, Derek can't help but get a little into it. It's been _weeks_ since they'd fucked, and Derek suspects that it's what's on the docket for that night. Stiles responds quickly, letting Derek tease him, and then blatantly grinding up against him when it gets to be too much to handle. Derek smells the arousal, feels his own dick hardening as Stiles grinds up against him, and as he gets a little dirty with kissing - fucking Stiles' mouth with his tongue - Derek is pretty damn content to just up and blow Stiles' mind.

And then suddenly Stiles is pulling away and Derek half-freezes in confusion. But any concern he'd had dies as Stiles begins to explain. And yes, he still feels a little twist inside at the thought of going slow ( _making love_ ) but now that Derek can see the way Stiles' lower lip dimples as he bites nervously at it, there's no question about it. Derek's expression softens a little and then he nods, wetting his own lips as he props himself up on one elbow next to Stiles.

"You really are a Princess," Derek says, but despite the words, there's a fonder amusement hidden in his eyes. His lips quirk in a small smile that's getting to be more comfortable on his face. "Getting me to carry you in here, and now you want to be pampered. It's a good thing I _want_ to pamper you."

Derek leans down, nosing at Stiles' throat before he presses a kiss there. And just like that, the mood shifts from desperate grinding to a slower exploration. This isn't really something he's familiar with, but he's damn well going to try. So he kisses at Stiles' throat, trails kisses slightly-rough with stubble up to his jaw, and Derek's free hand moves down to pull up the hem of Stiles' shirt so he can slide his hand underneath. He touches like he hasn't really been able to before, exploring the warm expanse of skin under his hand, learning Stiles' body _properly_ this time.

* * *

Their skills at dirty making out are pretty much unparalleled. They've had months to perfect going from 0 to 60, months to be as dirty and desperate as they want to be. At least, that's what Stiles is going with. With his arm out of commission, they had to improvise a little. No outright fucking and no rush to get off, Derek had to be careful and Derek had to make sure Stiles was careful too. What's really changed things is the fact that they don't have to hide. Sometimes they've just kissed to kiss, to enjoy it, to enjoy each other.

Stiles doesn't begrudge that things have turned hot and frenzied in their liplocking. It's been a while since they could go at it and could go all out (although he suspects that won't be the case. Derek is fairly paranoid of re-injuring his shoulder). And it would be super easy to let things continue at this pace, to rub against Derek's dick, to let Derek totally mess him up and drive him crazy in the best possible way but...

Stiles thinks that going slower - that making love - could be good for them. Maybe it's even what they need. He sees Derek's expression change, and it doesn't change into anything guarded. Stiles feels his own face relax and then his body as well. There's a surge of relief as Derek moves next to him but _stays._

And then Derek is calling him a Princess and Stiles can't help but snort in laughter. He doesn't miss the fondness. Of course there's fucking fondness. They love each other. And while it might be weird to apply the concept of _pampering_ to him (and wanting it?) Stiles supposes he'll let it slide. He plans on showing that this is for _both_ of them.

" _Your_ Princess, asshole," Stiles mutters before Derek comes to his throat and Stiles tips his head to the side to allow Derek better access. Derek's mouth moves slow, kissing, his stubble dragging delightfully which has Stiles squirming. That squirm turns into a shudder when Derek's hand comes under his shirt, his palm sliding over his belly, up his chest. The touch is more sensual in nature and it has Stiles luxuriating in the exploration, his eyes closing and a moan of contentment slipping out.

Stiles lifts his hand and places it against the back of Derek's head. Stiles scratches at Derek's scalp. "Mm, feels good," Stiles murmurs. "Shirt off, wanna feel you." His hand then drops to pull at Derek's collar.

* * *

This is something they've been working on slowly and something that Derek intends to get better at as time goes on. This is still new. He can throw Stiles' legs over his shoulders and fuck him until he's screaming into his hands, and Derek can make it good, but a slow, careful exploration with no dirty talk is still something he's not great at. He's getting there day by day, but now, when Stiles is just outright suggesting it, Derek wets his lips, nervous but still excited, and he just trusts that Stiles will rein him back in if he goes too far.

There's something damn addicting about feeling Stiles squirm. Derek drags his lips over Stiles' throat, lets his stubble scratch along Stiles' skin, and it's really damn hot. Stiles squirms and breathes slowly, shuddering when Derek touches his skin, and yeah, they've done stuff like this before, but Derek is still amazed that it can feel _this_ good to just explore. Now that he has the chance to do it, he intends to give it his all, and as he settles beside Stiles on the bed and touches him, Derek coaxes every little sound he can out of Stiles' throat.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to relax, and it takes even less time for him to touch Derek back. Derek feels Stiles' nails scratch at his scalp and his breath hitches at the feel of it. A small shiver slides down Derek's spine and he groans softly against Stiles' throat.

Stiles' request is easy to fulfill, and Derek nods, though it takes him a moment to draw back completely. He steals a lingering kiss first, slow and sensual, and then he draws back to help Stiles get his shirt off. Derek lifts it part way and then allows Stiles to finish, easing the shirt off and over his head. Derek's hands immediately go to Stiles' shirt again, and he coaxes him into sitting up a little as he pulls Stiles' shirt up and off of his body. Derek sets it aside and then leans back down over Stiles, quietly delighting in the feeling of bare skin against his chest.

Derek noses at Stiles' throat again, where his scent is strong. Lapping at the pulse point in Stiles' throat, Derek's hand moves slowly over Stiles' skin. Once or twice he forgets himself - pinching Stiles' nipple with no warning, and biting a little harder at his throat - but each time he catches himself, curses under his breath, and murmurs an awkward apology before soothing the sting with passes of his tongue. First at Stiles' throat, and then Derek glances at him, considers, and then moves down Stiles' body, nuzzling a trail down to the nipple he'd pinched so that he can lick at it in apology.

* * *

Maybe it's feelings that change things like this. Maybe it's the fact that they've both said the love-word because all of this does feel slightly different - slightly _special -_ but Stiles isn't interested in trying to figure it out right now because he just wants to enjoy it. He wants to enjoy all of this good because they've had enough bad and they deserve some good. They deserve this and they deserve each other.

Stiles doesn't even mind when Derek helps him slip off his own shirt. By now, he's pretty used to Derek helping him undress. Derek undressing him may actually be the most intimate they've done together. Or well, it's intimate in a completely different way than Derek fingering him into a quivering mess. Derek has literally rolled off his socks. Scott hasn't even done that for him. Derek has touched him nonsexually, cared for him, been gentle and careful while maneuvering around the sling. It makes Stiles' chest ache in a good way.

And it's even better when their skin is able to touch. It almost feels like he could burn up within Derek at times, that he could lose himself, but that won't ever happen. Derek may run exceedingly hot and be intense in the way that movies can only hope to recreate, but Derek is real and he never lets Stiles lose himself. He feels safe with Derek. Not even the accident could change that. It's just a fact that both the pack - Derek included - do want him around and want him safe. Stiles feels safe now as Derek licks at him and touches.

Every so often things turn a little more heated until Derek reels himself back but Stiles doesn't mind. He knows this is a change and it won't exactly come easy for them. Derek offers him apologies and Stiles just shakes his head because they're not necessary. Not for these little blunders anyway. Stiles' eyes flutter closed as Derek's mouth trails down his chest and over to a stinging nipple that had been treated with a blip of earlier harsh treatment. Stiles arches into the wet slide of a tongue, gasping.

"C'mere," Stiles murmurs a moment later and his hands gently yank at Derek's hair to get his head moving up and Stiles lifts off the pillow to kiss Derek sweetly. It's light but nice and Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's short hair as he presses a little more intensely. Stiles doesn't exactly know how to impress upon Derek _lovemaking_ through kissing other than doing it slower, but he gives it his best shot.

When he pulls away Stiles catches his breath before asking, "Can you lay on your back for me?"

* * *

This is different than what Derek is used to, but despite his little blunders here and there, it's still good. Stiles is a responsive partner even when he's not cursing and writhing, or grabbing at Derek with blunted human nails. It's just that now he's responsive in a different way, one that makes Derek's chest ache warmly. It's a _good_ feeling, and every time that Stiles gasps or arches a little under him, or even just touches him, Derek feels oddly privileged that Stiles _wants_ him here, and is willing to put up with him being less-skilled in this.

Derek does lock away a few things, though, small ones. Like how Stiles squirms a little when Derek lightly touches his sides, or how Stiles arches favorably into a pass of Derek's tongue over his nipple. Doing this is like learning to play Stiles like an instrument all over again, and Derek _really_ likes it. It makes him feel like he's on top of the world.

Then fingers slide into his hair a few moments later, complete with an urging request from Stiles. Derek looks up at him, his eyes just shy of glinting, and he goes willingly, though not without a sharper breath when Stiles pulls at his hair. Derek eagerly leans into the kiss that Stiles gives him, but while he does initiate it and push, it doesn't take him long to realize that pushing _isn't_ what Stiles wants. Instead Stiles kisses him sweetly, and up until this point, Derek hadn't really known what that _meant_. But now he does.

Sweetly is gentle, yes, but more importantly, 'sweetly' is fingers running through his hair. Sweetly is the way Stiles' breath hitches and the resulting warmth on Derek's face as he breathes out. Sweetly is the way his chest _aches_ when Stiles presses closer, enough that Derek feels something like an honest-to-god whine building in his throat before he shoves it back. He shudders, his own breath hitching, and he kisses Stiles back, fully content to do so.

There's no part of him that wants to argue when Stiles asks him to lay down. Derek takes a second to catch his breath and then nods, leaning over to give Stiles one last kiss before complying. He shifts, turning onto his back and lying back on the bed, his pillow behind his head and the veritable nest of blankets comfortable and soft against his back. Derek swallows; his eyes haven't left Stiles once.

"What do you have in mind?"

* * *

It's definitely not bad having Derek over him and touching. It's just that... It's usually Derek on top and making him squirm and writhe and lose his mind. Yeah, Derek is _trying_ to go slow and take his time. It feels like Derek is both enjoying it and learning him and Stiles definitely likes it. He really does. He likes the idea that he's worth taking the time to explore and learn. He likes that they have the freedom to not have to rush. They can be as loud as they want too. After months of doing the opposite, it's really freakin' nice. Like a breath of fresh air.

And while Derek's first inclination is to deepen the kiss, he eventually figures out that mad tongue dueling isn't what Stiles wants and he backs off a little. That's not to say that Derek slacks, because Derek is far from a slacker in anything and he sure doesn't slack here and now. They kiss and Stiles honestly feels like he's flying high just from the warmth and sheer _niceness_ of having Derek here and with him. And the kiss is sweet and not lame like Stiles used to think sweet kissing would be.

As he'd stated earlier, Stiles wants something different. So he asks Derek to pretty much swap positions with him and Derek nods, gives him one more kiss, and then shifts so he can lay on his back. Stiles really has to bite down the urge to grab his phone and take a picture because Derek is _hothothot_. Shirtless and waiting for him? Yeah, Stiles is into this. Derek watches him, eyes intense and Stiles can't help but lick his lips in anticipation.

Stiles knows they really ought to strip down, but that can be for later. So he smiles as he crawls on top of Derek, coming to straddle his thighs before sitting his ass on them. There's something really sexy in knowing that Derek could easily flip him over but doesn't.

"When I finally _do_ let you fuck me," Stiles begins softly, his hand reaching out to cup Derek's erection through his jeans and squeeze. Stiles doesn't look away from Derek's eyes. "I'm going to ride you nice and slow, baby. Going to savor it." Stiles' hand slides up Derek's stomach, his fingertips playing over Derek's treasure trail.

* * *

There's something settling about this, though Derek can't put a name to it. The way Stiles appears as his eyes rake over Derek's body like so many people before him have done makes Derek feel different than he normally does. Derek knows he's attractive and he's used that to his advantage. He's grabbed his unfeeling evenings and had a little distraction here and there, but before Stiles it hadn't been completely meaningful in this way. This is different. While Stiles _is_ looking at him like Derek is hot, he's also looking at him with fond awe that _makes_ Derek want to arch, to preen, to encourage Stiles' attention.

And then Stiles is moving up and over him, straddling him. Derek watches as Stiles settles back on his thighs and he fights the urge to coax Stiles in closer, to take a little control back, as this isn't really something they've done. Derek has never let _Stiles_ call the shots outside of blowjobs. Yet he can't deny that this is really damn hot. Feeling Stiles' weight on his thighs is appealing and looking up at him when Derek's instincts _should_ be snarling at the height difference makes Derek feel much more attentive.

Then Stiles' hand presses to the front of his jeans, cupping and squeezing, and Derek's eyes flutter shut as his lips part on a soft breath. While it's soft, it's visible in the way his abdomen flexes. Then Stiles goes on, whispering his intentions, and when Derek's eyes open again, they flicker red briefly before he manages to fight it back down.

The thought of Stiles _riding_ him is one thing. The thought of Stiles doing it slowly is another. But the little pet name with no trace of sarcasm and the implication that Stiles would want to _savor_ him has Derek's cock twitching in his jeans and his next breath slightly shaky as he lets it out. His hands move to Stiles' hips and Derek squeezes, looking up at Stiles with a sort of awed heat in his eyes.

"You mean that," Derek says, and while it's a statement, it's also a sort of question. "All of it. Fuck, Stiles. Yeah, yeah, that sounds _perfect."_ Derek wets his lips and looks down at Stiles' hand, teasing and gentle. "How about... you call the shots for a bit. C'mon. Show me what you want."

* * *

Stiles has never used a pet name sweetly before. Is this sweetly, though? Sexy and sweet? He's not quite sure. He's called Derek a lot of things over the years and most of them are as a joke or to be a pest, but _baby_ had just kind of slipped out. Stiles doesn't mind it though and Derek doesn't snarl or freeze up at anything he says so yeah, he's okay. He's just fine. It's definitely something he won't use in public or around the pack, Stiles isn't that much of an idiot. (Although it'd be tempting to see Derek's aghast face and the disgruntled faces of their friends.)

There's a lot of things Stiles wants to do and try with Derek. He practically has a growing list in his head. He should probably record it for posterity's sake so they can cross off their accomplishments. Stiles knows Derek has had a lot more sex than he has, and that's okay. Stiles plans on having a lot of sex with Derek going forward. And it's not just sex with them, too. It's love - l-o-v-e - love. That means the most. They love each other so their banging is gonna be the best, duh.

And oh, Stiles hadn't missed that flash of red in Derek's eyes. It's the danger, the thrill and it's always going to be present when one is living in the supernatural world. Stiles wouldn't change it for the world. These are his friends. This is his boyfriend. And he's going to stick around and help and annoy them for years to come. (And if he gets mortally wounded, if his human body starts to fuck up, yeah, Stiles will accept the Bite.)

Derek sounds and looks a little surprised, maybe even shocked by what he's said. Stiles is pretty sure it's not the riding thing, but the whole 'I wanna savor you like you're the most delicious steak ever' sentiment that has got to Derek.

_'How about... you call the shots for a bit. C'mon. Show me what you want.'_

Stiles has zero problems with that. It's not that he thinks he's the bottom-y bottom-iest bottoms of them all. Derek had been like, the male-equivalent of Aphrodite and Stiles hadn't had any experience so of course he was gonna go with what Derek wanted, but just because things start one way it doesn't mean they have to _stay_ that way.

"Stiles, shot caller, reporting for duty," Stiles teases and he bends down so he can nuzzle his cheek over the attractive bulge in Derek's jeans before moving upward and kissing at Derek's stomach. "I wanna kiss you everywhere. Every inch of your skin. Well, most of the inches."

Stiles laughs softly before starting with Derek's abs. His mouth drops down, a light kiss is placed before he moves his mouth up and over to a new area. Stiles focuses, trying hard to work his way around Derek's hips, his stomach, his navel. Kissing everywhere... yeah likely not going to happen, but Stiles is going to enjoy what he does end up kissing.

* * *

Derek has never had this before. He's had parts of it. Kate had been fond of calling him 'sexy' or 'babe', but she'd never used terms that had made Derek feel like this. He knows he'll need to tell Stiles one day, knows that maybe he'll need to ask that Stiles not use certain words, but that's so far from his mind right now that it doesn't even seem important. Stiles wants to _savor_ him and Derek isn't even sure what that does to him, but he likes it. Warmth and interest flare in equal measure, and so his resulting offer honestly makes sense. He wants to let Stiles savor him, wants to give him a gift, and Stiles hasn't called the shots yet.

Maybe it's time that changed. At least... some of the time.

So Derek lets Stiles tease - he even finds himself smiling - and he lets Stiles take over. It's odd, not being the one to press Stiles into the mattress and make him whine, but when Derek feels Stiles nuzzle the fabric over his dick and then just start kissing his bared skin like he doesn't want anything else in the world, Derek finds he doesn't care. He looks down, watching as Stiles takes his time. There's no way that Stiles can kiss him _everywhere_ (and frankly there are a few places that Derek would shove him away from for the potential sake of being ticklish alone) but the fact that it's something that appeals to Stiles makes his cock _ache_ in its confines.

Derek lifts one hand and the fingers of his hand carefully stroke back through Stiles' hair encouragingly. It doesn't take long until he's breathing a little harder, watching Stiles with open awe. Stiles' lips are everywhere, skirting over his abs, his hips, even his navel (which makes Derek squirm a little as it's a new sensation). It's just kissing, sure, but as Derek watches Stiles throw himself into it with the focus he does, he feels his pulse quicken and his cock harden even more. Derek's human nails gently scratch along Stiles' scalp, and when Stiles kisses over to one of his other hips, Derek shifts, squirming slightly.

"God, Stiles. Trust this to be the area where you can focus," Derek murmurs, the words likely softened by the slightly-dazed look in his eyes. "Not complaining."

* * *

Stiles remembers when he used to just ogle Derek like a fine piece of meat. He'd had a movie crush on Derek because Derek was hot and mysterious and yeah, Stiles could get behind fantasizing about _all_ of that. It is what he'd been used to, right? Pining after Lydia, having a crush on Derek, nothing new. But over the months, dramatic tense situation after dramatic tense situation, Stiles had seen Derek as more than a delicious piece of brooding steak. Stiles saw Derek's desire to do the right thing, the desperation to fix what needed to be fixed, to stand up and fight. He might not always go about it the right way, but Derek wants to do good and be good and that means the world to Stiles.

He remembers the first time he thought maybe Derek liked him a little too, that the banter and insults could be a form of teasing. God, he'd been ecstatic, biting his lip and jumping around his room like an idiot. He'd been seventeen then. The shitty thing had been that Stiles had no one to tell. He'd kept it to himself like a loser and just jerked off over the chance of Derek finding out how willing and interested Stiles was... And then the incident at the bar had happened and Derek had kissed him and Stiles had felt amazed and shocked. He hadn't even touched back until Derek had encouraged him to.

And then they'd had crazy makeout sessions and grinding until fucking had just happened and while Derek had never been cruel or mean, he'd been pretty intense. Most of the time Stile likes that, too. Stiles wants to be fucked into the mattress or lifted up and fucked against a wall, but this is good too. This is something else entirely and new isn't bad, new is just different, but Derek had been really new and different when they'd started this and now look at them.

Derek reacts beautifully to his mouth, there's labored breathing that Stiles can pick up, a hand stroking through his hair. Anytime Stiles looks up, Derek is looking down intently at him which is also amazingly hot. Derek squirms a little and Stiles really wouldn't be able to hold him down if Derek sought to move or re-situate himself.

But Derek doesn't. Derek remains and Derek gives a playful comment about him being able to focus _here_ and Stiles laughs against Derek's skin before looking up.

"Exactly," Stiles replies, clearly pleased. "No complaining or I'll get something to put in your mouth." Stiles' eyebrow wiggles suggestively before he kisses up Derek's chest and nuzzles his cheek against chest hair. "Didn't think I'd like chest hair," Stiles admits softly. "But it's definitely grown on me." As Stiles smooshes his cheek into Derek's chest, he shifts his hips up to grind against Derek as his hands come to grip the pillow.

And maybe because he's just enjoying himself and not thinking, Stiles murmurs, "God, I wanna fuck you slow one day."

* * *

It's only after he says it that Derek realizes that his comment might have come across as something cruel. He stills, dazed but suddenly a little uncertain, but when he looks down at Stiles and Stiles just _laughs_ , Derek feels whatever tension had been building just leave him entirely. With a slow sigh, Derek allows himself a small smile that still feels a little alien on his lips, but it's getting better. He hasn't had reason to smile for years, and then Stiles had happened. Derek's not sure how many times he's smiled in the past few weeks, but it's likely in the dozens by this point. If he'd made one good decision, it had been to stay by Stiles during his recovery.

Which leads them here, to Stiles looking pleased and teasing right back. Stiles makes a comment about 'getting something to put in his mouth' and Derek's eyebrows both lift in both surprise and a little interest. That's something he hasn't done nearly enough of, especially given how often Stiles has gotten to his knees for him in months past. Derek makes a mental note to rectify that, and he's honestly going to suggest it _now_ , but then Stiles is kissing up his chest nice and slow, and nuzzling into the hair there and Derek all but melts at the feeling.

Stiles can't possibly know that it speaks directly to the wolf in his chest, that it's like Stiles up and accepting his instincts, but Derek relaxes and cards his fingers through Stiles' hair, touching him as much as he can in response. He doesn't take offense to Stiles' initial uncertainty about his chest hair. He nods, just once, and gives Stiles' hair a little muss. "I didn't really let you explore before," he admits, half-regretful, half-wistful, but _that_ thought is derailed when Stiles presses in closer and then begins to slowly grind against him. Derek's breath catches, his hips lifting a little of their own accord, and he winds an arm around Stiles as he grinds right back, feeling the heat and the pleasure like a low burn under his skin.

But not even that distraction can stop Stiles' unintentional admission from piercing right through the fog. Derek stills immediately, and he doesn't know what to make of the way something inside of him twists in... what? Uncertainty? Instinct? But there's _also_ no denying the way heat cuts through him in equal measure. He looks at Stiles, his eyes a little wider at first before they narrow in maybe-contemplation-maybe-wariness. It's not something Derek has ever done, has ever felt _comfortable_ enough to do. Not with anyone. His instincts feel... prickly at the thought, like one half of them wants it, but the other is gruff and resistant.

w

Derek swallows, then wets his lips, takes a breath, stops, and then tries again. But despite all of the questions on his mind, all that comes out is: "Is... that what you want? Now?"

* * *

There's a lot of things that Stiles likes that he hadn't expected he would. He supposes that's kind of what growing up and experimenting is for. He hadn't ever expected that he'd get off on Derek being an Alpha, for example. The flash of red, the danger of claws and fangs that can do more than just bite, but can give _him_ the Bite. He hadn't thought he'd like getting fucked hard and practically screaming either. While Stiles knew he was bi, there was no guarantee he'd like taking it up the ass _at all._ There's plenty of other things to do and ways to get off that don't involve _penetration._ (What a fucking daunting word, too.)

Stiles does like it, though. He likes Derek's fingers making him squirm and he likes Derek's dick making him moan. It's not that Stiles is _unhappy_ about what they've done because he so totally isn't. He does like getting fucked. He even likes that sore ache-y feel _after_ because it's like Derek is still with him (which sounds pretty damn lame to him but that's okay, he's not planning on sharing it). Derek is all hot muscles underneath him, strong fingers in his hair and an arm wrapped around him as Derek meets his grind. Maybe it's some man instinct to want to fuck holes -- Stiles doesn't know, but the words slip out as he thrusts against Derek.

He has thought a little about fucking Derek. Not crazy fucking. Not like Derek can do. Stiles would probably tire himself out or pull a muscle if he tried to do what Derek does... but slow? _Love making_? Stiles could manage that. He wants to try at least.

Derek stops grinding against him and Stiles looks up, eyes wide and hesitant as what he's just said sinks in. He stops moving his hips as well. There's no unsaying it. Derek's clearly heard it. Derek's expression is complicated. It's not the worst... He's not horrified by the idea, but he does look apprehensive. Stiles gets the idea that Derek probably hasn't ever done it before (which is both scary and thrilling because Stiles feels gleefully possessive at the idea of being a first something, finally). Derek fish gapes for a little before finally speaking.

"Now?" Stiles echoes back dumbly before getting his thoughts in order as he rambles on: "I mean, I want it whenever but only if you're okay with it. I don't wanna pressure you. I kind of just dropped a bombshell, right? I'm more than happy to stick with my original plan -- or we can do both. Both is good? We have all night." Stiles bites his bottom lip to get himself to shut up.

* * *

The thought hasn't ever really occurred to Derek before. He understands it; Stiles is still a _guy_ and guys traditionally like to put their dicks in things. Sometimes things that have no right having a dick in them. But this request, while it's completely caught Derek off guard, is not one of those things. Because when it comes down to it, even as Derek's mind practically _reels_ at the surprise of Stiles' suggestion, it's not really a _bad_ one. It makes sense. Stiles is just... _Stiles_. And Stiles traditionally has always been at the head of the pack - literally - when it comes to pushing for things he feels he deserves. He'd pushed to be able to attend training despite Derek snarling at him, and he'd pushed to be included in pack business despite Derek's annoyance. So this... this makes sense.

It's just that Derek is an Alpha, and the thought of submitting in any way makes his hackles lift. It's ridiculous because it's _Stiles_ , and as Derek has slowly been finding out, he loves Stiles in ways he hadn't really thought possible. Oh, he's still making mistakes, and they've butted heads more than once during Stiles' recovery, but Stiles never just sits back and _lets_ Derek make a demand of him without demanding _why_ back. Derek likes it, for all it pisses him off. So that Stiles is pushing yet again seems almost... fitting. Up until this point, Derek hadn't even thought of the inequality of the fact that it's always _him_ fucking Stiles.

Now he's thinking about it. And while Stiles looks immediately hesitant and careful, he doesn't actually shut his mouth and beg Derek to forget what he'd said. Instead he nervously shuffles about for a second, and then the verbal torrent of Stiles' rambling tumbles from his lips. Derek, surprising even himself, listens.

It takes a while for Stiles to bite his lip and quiet himself down, but Derek's already thinking as he looks up at him. He doesn't do _words_ well and Stiles knows that, but maybe it's important this time. Derek wets his lips.

"Alphas... don't often do that. Or let anyone do that. It's a sign of submission, instinctively. But..." Derek frowns and his fingers find Stiles' hair again, stroking a little as if to try and keep Stiles with him. "But that's not fair to you. Have--... is this something you've, uh... been wanting? For a while?"

* * *

Aww, shit. Stiles really hopes he hasn't opened a can of worms here or whatever the saying is. Stiles knows communication and compromise are important in both relationships and sex. It's not like Stiles is against such conversions (even if they're awkward), it's just that he realizes how sudden he'd up and shared his so-called desire. It almost seems random or out of place especially seeing as Stiles has talked up how they were going to make love and it had obviously been implied that _he_ would be taking a dick up the ass.

That's just the way things have always been between them. If anyone were to look at the two of them, it's obvious who would be assumed to be givin' it and who is takin' it. Derek is all rawr manly and Stiles is boyish cute? Or something. Stiles has done a little bit of research. He knows that there can be set bedroom roles for people - some dudes only top, others only bottom - but it seems like being versatile and swapping between the two is pretty common and Stiles thinks it's only fair.

After he's finished vomiting his words up, Derek looks thoughtful. He's still not disgusted and he's still not freaking out so Stiles relaxes slightly and tries to not vibrate with nervous energy and get all annoying. These things are good. Discussions? Dealing with potential conflicts? This shit is normal. Everyone has disagreements or fights, it's what happens _after_ that's important. And while they've had some pretty not-so-great partings, that was before. Stiles doesn't look away from Derek as he answers. They're doing this. Talking. It's good.

Oh. Right. Derek's an Alpha. Stiles hadn't even considered that. A sign of submission... Okay, that makes sense. Stiles frowns a little because it's not his intention to make Derek do something that isn't natural. But fingers stroke through his hair and when Derek mentions fairness and goes onto to ask again about Stiles wanting to, Derek is proving that the conversation isn't actually over. Stiles' lower lip quivers and he tucks his head down in the curve of Derek's shoulder, letting Derek support him. His heart feels both full and tight.

"Hey, I love you, it's not important right now, okay? I don't want you to do something that is gonna be like, unnatural or wrong to you. It means a lot to me that we even talked about it." His words are muffled but Derek will be able to hear them just fine.

* * *

It feels almost alien to be doing this, to be discussing something so _normal_ in a way that doesn't involve flashing eyes or gritted fangs. Stiles isn't snarling back at him or challenging him. He's about as close to vulnerable as he can be right now, in fact, and Derek tries to remember that it's not just emotional vulnerability, but physical too. Maybe Stiles still has his jeans on, but that doesn't mean he isn't still naked in a sense. He'd been gentle, had been lost in touching Derek in a way that Derek hadn't _let_ him before, and there's a vulnerability in that too. They don't need to be naked to be vulnerable. Derek sure as Hell feels like he's in the same boat, anyway.

But despite his own uncertainty, it's Stiles that really catches his attention. Stiles, who looks at Derek with such open nervousness and then with something that Derek can't decipher. All he knows is that he sees Stiles' lower lip tremble before Stiles leans in to bury his face against Derek's throat. On one hand, his instincts tell him he shouldn't like having someone so close to his throat, but on the other, it feels good. But everything is overshadowed by Derek's sudden flare of alarm, because trembling lips usually mean _crying_ , and while he hadn't meant to make Stiles cry, he's suddenly worried he'd said something completely insensitive again.

Feeling a small spark of desperation, Derek hesitates and then sets both of his hands down on Stiles. One situates itself in his hair where it has been, and the other strokes slowly up and down his back. It's awkward; Derek doesn't do _comfort_ well yet, but he's concerned. And when Stiles speaks, Derek can't really get a read on his emotions like that either. Frustrated with himself, Derek takes a moment to really think this through. Is it natural? No. But is _anything_ with Stiles natural on paper? No. And once Derek's realized that, it becomes a simple, nervous matter of logistics. That one, blessedly, is easier to figure out.

"How about... if you fuck me first," Derek says slowly, like he's still not sure if this is a good idea or not. "And then I'll fuck you after." Because clearly Stiles is a teenager, and a virgin in this way. He's not going to last long.

* * *

God, he does love Derek and as much as Stiles is curious and wants to have his dick inside of Derek, it's not the end of the world. It's not something that he'd get bitter over and fight for. It's not something that would break them up, either. Compromises are fine and dandy, but Derek being comfortable comes first and Stiles isn't a werewolf. He doesn't know all of the in's and out's of customs and whatnot. He suspects that there will be more things to pop up that may alter or change things. This is his lot in life. The supernatural jackpot of friends and Stiles wouldn't change it for the world.

Still, it's hard to not get a little emotional because Stiles still feels taken back that they've even managed to get to this point where they can stop messing around and have a conversation. It's like a real adult relationship. Wow.

Despite being uncertain and hesitant, Stiles is still aroused. He may be clinging to Derek, but he's still got a boner and Derek can feel it. Stiles is pretty sure that they can recover from this. If his initial comment hadn't spooked Derek, Stiles is pretty sure this isn't going to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Derek holds him, one hand in his hair and then the other on his back. They haven't done _this_ much -- Derek actually trying to comfort him. Stiles thinks this qualifies as that. Derek's actions seem a little stilted, but it's still nice and Stiles sags in relief into Derek.

Then Derek answers him and Stiles' hips give an excited grind without his say-so. Derek is going to let him? Oh my fucking god, yes!

"Okay, yeah, de-definitely," Stiles stammers out and he's pulling himself back to press an uncoordinated kiss against Derek's cheek before straightening to look at him. "The stuff. I need it. Where is it? The ass-stuff."

Derek doesn't look impressed by his phrasing but he gestures to a side table and Stiles is bounding off of Derek like he's got a shot of adrenaline.

With jittery hands, he pulls the drawer open and finds lube and condoms that... yeah, probably are gonna be too big for him. Stiles frowns and then turns around. "You care if I use a condom because I think your love-gloves will be too big -- and yes, that's a shout out to the size of your dick."

* * *

Well, that's it. He's said it and there's no going back now. Derek knows technically that's an an overstatement; if he really changed his mind, Stiles would let him. Stiles is flexible (in more ways than one) and Derek knows he doesn't _have_ to, but thinking about it... it does make sense. It's really _not_ fair that Derek's been the one calling all the shots. Stiles is still a guy, and he can assume that Stiles wants to shove his dick in something as much as Derek likes doing it. So this is... fair. It doesn't really calm his nerves, but Derek knows it's fair and he's not backing down.

And considering the way that Stiles just suddenly up and grinds against him (which feels _really_ good and helps Derek relax some) and then stammers out his rush of not-upset-or-crying enthusiasm, Derek feels a huge chunk of tension leech out of him. He watches as Stiles straightens out after kissing his cheek (and Derek's heart feels a little sore but he doesn't know how to put that into words) and despite the choice he's made and how impactful it's going to be, Stiles proves - once again - that he is _Stiles_.

"The ass-stuff," Derek deadpans back, sounding long-suffering, but he thumbs back at a side table and then quickly moves to protect his dick as Stiles takes off after it like a greyhound after a mechanical rabbit. He wonders if he should feel nervous or proud that Stiles seems so eager, but really... _duh_. Derek can remember the first time he'd been allowed to fuck someone. He can understand Stiles' enthusiasm.

He shifts on the bed and reaches down, undoing the button and zipper on his jeans preemptively as Stiles gets the lube. So when Stiles pipes up again and then just up and asks if Derek wants him to use a condom, Derek opens his mouth to answer, and then pauses at the sudden vicious snarl within his chest. It has nothing to do with Stiles calling it a _love glove_ (God, seriously?) and everything to do with scent. Derek swallows down the desire to growl, but he can't quite stop his eyes from flashing red briefly. If he's going to do this...

"Don't use a condom," Derek says, and try as he might, the sound comes out a little like a growl anyway. He swallows it back and glances down at the way Stiles' jeans are tented. Apparently once he's made up his mind, Derek's instincts are quick to follow.

"I want to smell like you after. Come back to bed, and take off the rest of your clothes," he adds, lifting his hips as he unceremoniously divests himself of his jeans and boxers. Then Derek reaches a hand out, beckoning Stiles to come back to him. "And... after, if you're open to it, I want you to smell like me too."

* * *

Stiles really hopes that the issue of a non-available condom doesn't screw this up for him. He has condoms at home even -- of course he does. He's been prepared for the potential of sex for years now. He used to have one shoved in his shoe. When did he stop doing that? He should have been prepared. But he hadn't thought it would be needed. Why would he have? Derek and him have had a thing going for months now and it's been Derek doing the banging (which Stiles really has no complaints over).

Derek is in the process of undressing when Stiles asks. Other than the initial 'fuck I hope this doesn't mess things up' Stiles can't deny that there is something really appealing about _not_ having any sort of barrier between them. The idea of his cock sliding into Derek's body and beginning to _feel_ him like that? God. It's hot. Derek's eyes flash red and Stiles feels his bottom lip drop because god, Derek is sexy and Stiles has a feeling where this is going.

Then Derek answers him and Stiles visibly shudders. No condom. They don't need to use one. He feels like there's a defibrillator attached to him and Derek is shocking him. Maybe it's because Derek adds on that he wants to smell _like him_ and Stiles doesn't know what zings through his head or body other than _oh my fucking god is this really happening?_ Even though Derek beckons him over, Stiles doesn't move immediately. He's caught staring because he's able to watch Derek effortlessly pull off his jeans and boxers and fuck, that's his boyfriend who's going to let him try this and Derek is beautiful and actually really sweet (not that he's going to share that with anyone) because Derek's hand is outstretched.

_'--if you're open to it, I want you to smell like me too.'_

Derek wants to do the same for him. No condoms. They'll smell like each other. Stiles feels like his brain has just short circuited.

"I'm staring," Stiles states. "I need to be moving."

Stiles shakes his head as if trying to shake some sense into it and throws the lube onto the bed. His hands fly to the waistband of his jeans and he unbuttons the fly and drags the zipper down. He doesn't think he's ever undressed in front of Derek before -- not fully at least. Normally they're both just yanking down the necessary clothing items. So this time Stiles tries to be coy as he sways his hips from side to side, sliding the jeans down with an eager smile on his face.

"We'll smell like each other," Stiles adds on as he steps out of his jeans and then takes Derek's hand and gets to his knees on the bed.

* * *

Derek doesn't need to be a werewolf to know that Stiles is aroused by the idea. Now that he's come out and said it out loud, despite Derek's reservations, he knows he won't accept this any other way. The idea of doing this and _not_ carrying Stiles' scent within himself after feels like it would be unfulfilling, and Derek's not doing this by halves. Not now. The pack know about their relationship and there's no reason to pretend to hide this anymore. Sure, condoms offer easy clean up, but being able to bury his face in Stiles' hair and breathe in their combined scent so blatantly makes his cock ache and twitch where it's laying heavy against his stomach.

Stiles, for his part, seems just as interested. Derek's nostrils flare as arousal spikes through Stiles, and there's hunger in his eyes as he watches Stiles stare at him blatantly. Then Stiles throws the lube over (Derek catches it without thinking and sets it on the bed) and before Derek can insist that he walks over, Stiles begins to work his jeans and boxers down in a teasing little slide. Derek's eyebrows lift, and while impatience _does_ flare, it calms as he watches the sway of Stiles' hips and the smile on Stiles' lips. Derek swallows, and when Stiles takes his hand and walks over, it takes effort to not flip them and kiss him senseless.

 _Gentle_ , he reminds himself, even though his impulse is to fucking _ravage_ Stiles after that. Derek's cock is hard and thick and hot, and it's definitely distracting as he guides Stiles back over to him. Derek reaches up impulsively and curls a hand behind Stiles' neck, then draws him in slowly. When he kisses Stiles, it's not chaste. It's biting, and a little dirty, but one allowance isn't going to ruin the mood. Derek growls under his breath, and that same impulse tells him to just flip Stiles onto his stomach and fuck him, but he doesn't.

Instead he reaches for the lube and picks it up. After a moment's indecision, he presses it into one of Stiles' hands with a pointed look, swallowing down any uncertainty that remains. "Here. You deserve the full experience."

* * *

They've been more naked as of late than before, but it's still a treat to Stiles to see Derek in all of his manly glory. While getting down and dirty with some clothing on can be hot, being naked is more... vulnerable? Normally vulnerable is a bad thing. It can be uncomfortable, but with the right person? It's probably healthy. At least, Stiles thinks it would be. He's never really had a legit adult relationship before. Some of this is learning as he goes (actually, most of it is). It's also a lot of consulting Reddit and trying to find similarities in other people's anecdotes and advice. The Internet is practically his Sensei.

Derek pulls him over and Stiles goes willingly and eager and all but melting into Derek's touch against his neck. Derek manhandles him into another heated kiss that Stiles is returning enthusiastically. The growl is damn sexy. They may be entering into this with the plan on being sweeter, but Stiles wants them to be true to themselves. Being slower and gentler the _entire_ time is probably not possible for them and that's totally okay with Stiles. He's used to it. The kiss is broken only when lube is passed into his palm and Stiles jolts at it because reality just up and smacked him again.

"Oh. Yeah, yeah okay," Stiles mumbles and he quirks a nervous-but-grateful smile. _He's_ going to finger Derek open. And then fuck him. Whoa. Stiles nods like he's trying to talk himself into it before he's shimmying down on the bed. His free hand rubs down Derek's stomach, his hip and then his thigh. Derek spreads his legs without Stiles needing to ask and Stiles climbs in between them. He then looks over Derek as he upcaps the lube.

"You're so gorgeous," Stiles suddenly blurts out almost a little shyly. "An 11 out of 10, but even if you were like, a 7 I'd still have you." Stiles squeezes some of the lube out on his fingers and bites his bottom lip for a second. "Last chance. You sure, Derek?"

* * *

Derek lets himself have that one dirty kiss, reveling in it, because as much as he does want this experience - something softer and hopefully _meaningful_ \- he's been fucking Stiles for months now and he's learned what he likes. He knows what he likes to see on Stiles' face, knows how he likes him to sound, to fall apart, and this is no different. Stiles all but melts into the kiss before returning it, and the return to what Derek _understands_ makes him groan. The desire to just follow the norm is strong, but he doesn't give in. This will be the first time since Stiles' injury that they've actually had _sex_ and Derek doesn't want to talk dirty and throw Stiles around and make him scream. (Well... not _this_ time.)

Instead he reminds Stiles what he's supposed to be doing, and Derek feels a real spark of pleasure when he sees how dazed Stiles looks. The sight of it makes him smirk, but gently.

It's not until Stiles takes the lube and works down between Derek's legs that it hits Derek again just _what_ he's told Stiles he wants. Something within jumps with nerves and Derek fights them back. His instincts are a confusing mix of joy and discomfort, but when he looks down at Stiles and sees the flush of eagerness on his cheeks, Derek's nerves begin to calm.

Stiles' comment makes him snort, but there's fondness in Derek's eyes as he reaches down to stroke Stiles hair. "Idiot. You're not supposed to give me another out. You're supposed to go for it before I change my mind." But even as he says it, Derek _knows_ that's not Stiles, and somehow... fuck, somehow it actually _does_ help. He swallows, looks down at Stiles' slick fingers, and shoves aside the twist of _weird_ inside. Then he nods and spreads his legs wider, shifting to get comfortable. "Yeah, Stiles. Just don't treat me like I'll break if you go too quick. I'm a werewolf. I can handle it."

* * *

Sure, Stiles wants to gung-ho go and get this started, but he's gotta ask. It's important to ask. Derek may have agreed and handed him the lube, but Stiles feels like he really wants to make sure Derek is okay with doing this. Pressuring anyone into anything sexual isn't cool. It doesn't matter how much his cock wants it, it's not more important than Derek's own well being -- than their own well being even.

Predictably, Derek calls him an idiot and Stiles can't help but chuckle. It's such a Derek thing to say, but Stiles doesn't apologize for his concern. And after Derek spreads his legs wider and adjusts, Stiles is told to not treat him like something breakable. Stiles shoots Mr. Werewolf a look.

"Yeah, your body can handle it, but it doesn't mean _I_ want to do it that way," Stiles shoots back. The idea of just rushing and hurting Derek just because Derek can handle it is awful.

Now, Stiles has done this to himself only and he's had Derek finger him open but doing it to another person is going to be strange. Although... he supposes it's going to be strange for Derek, too. This will be new for them both. So Stiles smears the lube on his fingers as he slides down to rest on his belly. He's now eye level with all the crotch genital stuff, but Stiles doesn't let himself get distracted. His other hand spreads Derek's ass open and Stiles gasps as he actually looks at Derek's tight virgin hole. He knows Derek is going to grump if he just looks like a creep and doesn't do anything, so Stiles wet fingers reach out and smear the lube on Derek lightly.

"Deep breath, baby," he warns and slowly presses the tip of his finger in.

Just from what little Stiles has pushed in, he knows Derek is tight. Stiles gives a shudder as he pumps just the tip of his finger in and out a handful of times before finally sliding it all the way inside.

* * *

The look Derek is given briefly brings him up short, because it's so close to a reprimand that Derek can only blink after it. He hadn't been lying; he _can_ take it, but when Stiles phrases his answer the way he does, Derek can't really find fault in it. He doesn't necessarily _want_ Stiles to go fast enough to hurt, as this is odd enough as it is, but knowing that Stiles is so opposed makes something warm settle in Derek's chest. He looks at Stiles in silence, then simply nods, shifting his hips a little to get comfortable, because apparently that _is_ important to Stiles. Derek isn't used to anyone taking his needs into account. Not directly.

He watches Stiles get settled, and when hands find his ass and spread him (so weird), the brief uncertainty is _far_ overshadowed by the way Stiles gasps. Derek thinks back to the first time he'd seen Stiles' hole on display for him, how badly he'd wanted to bury himself inside of it. While the thought of Stiles feeling that way now is still a little odd, it _does_ make something warm flicker to life in Derek's stomach as Stiles looks at him with such open awe. But thankfully Stiles does get on with it before Derek can protest. The first touch of lube is cool enough to make Derek twitch but not enough to dissuade him, and though he does look at Stiles with interest at being called _baby_ again (Derek thinks he really likes it, at least when it's just them) he does what he'd been told and takes a deep breath.

The slow press of the tip of Stiles' finger is... weird. It's not painful, but it's awkward. It _is_ sensitive, which Derek hadn't been expecting, but he slowly lets the breath out through his nose, as if trying to decide how he feels about this. It's not _bad_ at least. And what's better is that he can scent Stiles' arousal suddenly spike, so it's clear _he_ likes it. Derek breathes slowly as he looks down at Stiles, and seeing the look on his face makes up for the awkwardness. But when Stiles' finger presses in a little deeper, pauses, and then continues on, Derek begins to tense before he remembers _not_ to, and makes himself relax as Stiles' finger sinks deeply into him, all the way to the knuckle.

It feels like sensation, but Derek doesn't know how he feels about it. It's a lot of sensation all at once, almost sore but not quite, but the _knowledge_ that Stiles is technically inside of him right now makes his cock ache. He finally lets his head drop back, moving his hips slowly as if to test the feeling.

"Is that what you're going to call me?" Derek asks, because that seems safer than acknowledging... _this_. He wets his lips. "I don't mind. I think I like it."

* * *

Stiles feels like he's hit the jackpot (not like he gambles, the odds are totally not in your favor). He feels crazy lucky and so totally stoked. It doesn't feel like a dream, though. He wouldn't dream about something so damn specific and important. Normally when he dreams they're just bizarre scenarios and anyone who happens to pop up in his dreams isn't exactly getting down and dirty with him. Stiles gets like, cockblocked in his dreams. It's ridiculous.

There's no reason to expect that now, though. Derek's head falls back onto the pillow and Stiles watches his Adonis-esque body for any signs of like, clear distress and 'please stop touching me' vibes. He doesn't think he detects any? Derek actually rolls his hips a little as if wanting to try out the feeling and Stiles thinks that's a good sign (he's going to take it as one anyway).

Stiles isn't expecting the question that Derek actually asks. It's about the... _baby_ thing. The nickname? Pet name? Stiles had, honestly, believed pet names would work easier with females. Or maybe not work with Derek because Derek doesn't seem like a _dear,_ or a _sweetheart_ type.

Does Derek seem like _baby_ though? Apparently because Stiles has fucking said it twice now and Derek hasn't actually flipped out over it. Well, Derek doesn't mind it and he _thinks_ he likes it. That's a start.

"Of course you like it, you're sweet on me," Stiles says and even though there's a note of teasing there's fondness. There's more than just sweetness between them. There's fucking love and it's because Derek loves him that Derek is letting him do this, so Stiles gets to business.

He pumps one finger in and out of Derek's body, the lube helping and Derek's tolerance also having a part to play. Stiles doesn't rush but he doesn't go turtle-slow either. He's steady as he fingers Derek open, one finger eventually becoming two and when Stiles feels a little more confident, his other hand wraps around Derek's cock and strokes slowly while two fingers thrust inside -- multitasking!

It's only after he has three fingers in and Derek seems as relaxed as he going to be that Stiles pauses and asks, "You're still okay? Do you-- Can I?"

Yeah, real smooth...

* * *

Stiles' comment is enough to draw a dry look from Derek, but instead of protesting that he's _not_ sweet on Stiles, Derek merely rolls his eyes and lets the topic slide. It's easy enough to do because he's technically got a finger up his ass, and this is not really something Derek had ever been prepared for. It's not bad though. It feels weird, feels like something that will eventually leave him feeling a little restless or antsy, but it's not _bad_ , and Derek's going to take that to mean that this might go well. So even though this goes against his nature or whatever, that doesn't mean that he wants to stop.

Instead he focuses on the feeling, and when the initial discomfort fades into something more tolerable, Derek squirms and then awkwardly tells Stiles to keep going. The thing is that Derek has no frame of reference for this, but he _also_ wants to give this to Stiles, who's taken it - taken _him_ so damn often without expecting this in return. One finger soon becomes two, and that's less comfortable. That's actually a little sore, but the soreness heals quickly, replaced by a feeling of awkward fullness that Derek's not used to. He's still puzzling over whether or not he likes it when Stiles' free hand suddenly comes to wrap around his cock and-- _oh_.

Oh, he gets it now.

Derek grits out a moan he doesn't intend to let out, his hips shifting as Stiles strokes him. It's slow, nothing he could get off to, but it takes the edge of discomfort away and makes the awkward full-feeling suddenly a _pleasurable_ full-feeling. Derek breathes slowly, one hand moving down to Stiles' thigh to touch him as Stiles fingers him open. It seems like less time has passed before Stiles seems to feel he's ready and moves onto three fingers. Again there's a bite, but Stiles stroking his cock takes the edge away and while this feels like _much_ more, Derek also finds himself relaxing quicker, his hips shifting up into the tunnel of Stiles' fist as three fingers press and move inside of him. Derek makes no move to angle his hips right to _really_ feel it, though he's curious. What he wants more than anything right now is to give this to Stiles. Give _himself_ to Stiles.

So when Stiles awkwardly stammers out his question, Derek looks up at him. He's only beginning to realize now that his cheeks are flushed and that his cock is harder than it had been, but that's a good sign. It means Derek can _mean_ it when he nods and reaches out, curling a hand around one of Stiles' biceps to give it an encouraging squeeze.

"I'm fine, Stiles. It's fine," Derek breathes, letting his legs spread a little wider. "Come on. I want you to fuck me."

* * *

Stiles is sure he's not doing this the best. While he can finger _himself_ open no problem, he's used to it. Doing it to someone else is an entirely different game, okay. He's also multitasking -- or trying. Maybe it's a little ambitious to be touching Derek's dick while he's stretching him, but Stiles wants to make sure Derek is at least having something familiar through this process, like he's pairing an unfamiliar usually awkward experience with something good and hoping that'll help the ease the process and form positive associations. It's science, bitches.

Stiles' pace and movements are a little jerky. It's undoubtedly easier to do one or the other. For example, Stiles can't imagine how people can finger someone open and suck cock. He needs to be able to see what he's doing (despite the fact that Derek's ass isn't moving anywhere). There's a level of satisfaction that comes from seeing his fingers push into Derek's body, though. If he was doing a little dick sucking, Stiles wouldn't be able to see that. Derek is hot and perfect around his fingers and Stiles can't even imagine how it's going to feel when he's _inside_ Derek for real.

At least Derek has stayed hard through this, his hips meeting his fist and Stiles is totally taking that as a good sign.

And when Derek looks down at him, touching and assuring him, Stiles can't help but think his heart has grown in size somehow. And when Derek says he wants Stiles to fuck him, Stiles doesn't need to be asked twice, nope. He's easing his fingers out carefully and while getting to his knees he's wiping his fingers on Derek's bedspread (his turn to do more laundry!). He then realizes he could have just wiped the extra lube on his cock because he's going to have to get more anyway. Well, in this, he's a noob.

Stiles is practically vibrating with excitement. He doesn't want to fuck this up. He can't. He just can't. Shaky hands fumble with the lube for a moment before he gets it open and squeezes some onto his hand. Derek grabs a pillow and stuffs it under his hips to elevate himself a little. Stiles strokes the goop onto his cock and pumps his hand fast (nervousness had him softening a little). Once he's fully hard, Stiles nods.

"Okay, okay, gonna do it," he announces awkwardly as he crowds in closer. Stiles' right hand holds his cock still as he lines it up. After taking a deep breath, he presses against Derek's wet, waiting hole. And with a shudder, Stiles pushes in and gasps as heat and tightness clench around him viciously. He edges his hips forward, the head of his cock pushing all the way and Stiles' head shoots up to take in Derek's face and he thinks he sees a wince.

Without thought, Stiles is hastily pulling out. "I'm sorry, too fast? Was I too fast?"

* * *

Derek isn't _actually_ sure he wants Stiles to fuck him. Instinct is still playing one hell of a role in this, but he's already three fingers in, and when it comes down to it, it doesn't feel bad. It feels pleasantly full with Stiles' hand also stroking his cock, and he hasn't died or lost his Alpha status yet, so Derek's fully ready to just suck up the whining in his instincts in favor of giving Stiles something different.

Giving him something he's probably wanted but never felt comfortable enough to ask for. (And yeah, Derek does feel like an ass for always assuming, but he hadn't _thought_ , and offering to let someone fuck him hadn't been in the cards.) So despite the uncertainty, he still urges Stiles into action, and Derek thinks he's made the right choice when he sees Stiles' eyes widen and scents the spike of nervous arousal in the air.

He watches with some interest as Stiles fumbles around, though he _does_ take care when he slides his fingers out (Derek doesn't like _that_ feeling...). There's a moment where Stiles wipes lube on Derek's bedspread before realizing he could have used it for his cock, but Derek isn't pissed. He's done that often enough with Stiles, and he kind of likes that Stiles feels like he can make a claim like that in Derek's space, even if he doesn't know that's what he's doing. But when Stiles slides in closer and lines up his now-fully-hard cock, some of the warmth eases from Derek's chest, replaced with a quick, kind of embarrassing spike of nerves. It's just a cock. It's not going to kill him.

But that doesn't mean that he doesn't _feel_ it when Stiles presses against his hole and then pushes in. It's... it's quick, maybe a little _too_ quick if the bite of pain is any indication, but Derek isn't going to fault him for eagerness. He _knows_ the bliss of that first push inside, knows how overwhelmingly good it feels to have wet, hot, and tight wrapped around his dick.

While this might not feel that great, the knowledge that Stiles is feeling it coupled with the gasp Derek can hear sends a frisson of pleasure through him anyway. He still winces though, a quick grimace as the head of Stiles' cock pushes inside of him fully, and-- fuck, it's a lot. It's a _lot_ , he just needs a second--

And then suddenly the pain flares again because Stiles is trying to pull back _out_ , and fuck, no-- "No, _don't--_ " Derek grinds out, and without thinking he grabs at Stiles' shoulders and his legs wrap around Stiles' waist, his heels digging into the space just above Stiles' ass as Derek pulls and Stiles' cock sinks back into him, the head _and_ a little deeper (though that hadn't been his intention).

"It's fine, you're fine, just-- just gimme a minute," Derek rushes out on one breath. It's only when he draws in his next one that he's aware of how fucking full he feels, which is an odd sensation. He hisses out his next breath and waits for the pain to fade into discomfort, then into a full stretch that makes him feel a little restless. "I'll tell you if I need to stop. Just... don't pull out. _In_ , Stiles."

* * *

Is this really happening? Is he going to fuck his boyfriend, to fuck Derek? It seems like a crazy dream, but obviously a good one that he doesn't want to wake up from. Like the kind where all your wildest dreams come true and you got the hottest girl in school (or male equivalent in this case) and you're popular and your parents are proud and you have the best doggo in the world.

Well, this isn't that. Derek may be the hottest male equivalent, but this is far from perfect because he's gone too quick and hurt Derek so he should stop and try again--

At least that's what concerned Stiles is thinking, but to his surprise, Derek is snapping into action to stop him. Hands grab onto his shoulders and then Derek's legs wrap around him and there's no way Stiles could pull back. In doing so, Stiles' cock presses in further and it's _ohmygodsoperfect._ But he doesn't want to go too fast, it needs to be good for Derek too.

It's a conflict for the ages up until Derek assures him that it's okay and Stiles wants to believe him. Giving Derek a minute makes sense. Stiles has asked the same thing of Derek before, too (and Derek had listened to him, slowing down, giving him a little bit of time). Stiles' eyes are wide as he looks down at Derek and checks him over. Derek looks okay, not flustered or freaked out (unlike Stiles, maybe).

_' **In** , Stiles.'_

Stiles snorts. He can't help it. It's kinda funny. "Okay, okay," he agrees. As half his dick _is_ inside of Derek, Stiles decides to lean forward and just rest against Derek. He doesn't know the best position for the first push in thing, but it's less straining this way, at least.

"C'mon, pull yourself together," Stiles mutters to himself and after a deep breath. He's holding himself still, draped over Derek's chest, maybe half-way inside? It's hard to tell. It feels fucking amazing and perfect and almost too tight, but Stiles wouldn't change it for the world. He tucks his face into the crook of Derek's neck, feeling overwhelmed with this but knowing he can't back out. Logistically, it makes sense that it would hurt to pull out. The head of anyone's dick is the widest part to get in.

In. That's what he's gotta do. His hands are balled into fists on either side of Derek's head as Stiles' hips slowly push forward and he he edges his cock in deeper. It's a handful of seconds until he feels himself bottom out and Stiles shudders, his head nestling into Derek's neck as he shakes from the intensity.

"Oh my fucking god," he blurts out. "So perfect. Feels so good. It's like I've gone and died and am now in dick-heaven."

* * *

Thankfully - fucking _thankfully_ \- Stiles stops. It's not like he really has a choice, because Derek is an Alpha, and if he doesn't want Stiles to do something, there's no way that Stiles could even if he tried his hardest, but it's hard to remember that right now. Derek feels distinctly un-Alpha-like as everything feels.. _more_. It's almost overwhelming, it's so much, feeling like his body is being stretched to the brink (he has a new respect for Stiles now).

It feels good in a really fucked-up way, like the discomfort and fullness are somehow connected to his dick, which... yeah, he can see why Stiles might want this, but it's not mind-blowing in the way Stiles normally makes it seem. It's fine, though. Derek kind of likes how intense it is, even if he can't decide if it's good or not.

But before he can really wonder, Stiles finally leans down over him and Derek shudders as he feels Stiles' lips press to his throat. His instincts are suddenly lacking in protest and he aches with the desire to have Stiles in deeper. Before he asks for it, though, Stiles seems to get it (and there's something very endearing about Stiles needing to psych himself up to fuck Derek) and then suddenly the pressure and fullness is moving in deeper, less of a sudden stretch and smoother and hotter, and oh, yeah, Derek can understand this.

"Fuck, Stiles," he grinds out, his teeth gritted as his hips try and fail to twitch. It's intense in a way nothing else really is, and if just for the fact that it makes Derek forget that he's an Alpha who can handle pretty much anything, he kind of likes this. It's nice feeling like _Stiles_ has him, even if it's different.

But when Stiles' hips finally press against Derek's ass, even Derek feels a little stunned at the realization that Stiles is _all the way_ inside of him. He glances at Stiles, quietly shocked, and then Stiles is shaking atop him and Derek doesn't even think as he winds his arms around him tightly, his hand finding the base of Stiles' neck to massage gently, as if to calm him. Stiles' answer makes Derek snort a soft laugh, breathless and tight as it is, and Derek bites his lip as his body adjusts. Is it easy? No. (Again, new respect for Stiles) but Derek _really_ likes how clearly blissed-out Stiles looks.

"Don't know about dick-heaven," Derek manages, his hand sliding up into Stiles' hair to gently tug. "But lean back a little. I want to watch you when you're fucking me."

* * *

Stiles wishes he could be more eloquent in this heated first time. Derek deserves more than him blurting out something like 'dick-heaven' but Stiles' filter is literally nonexistent like this. Zero filter. Negative filter. This is mind blowing. Dick-changing. Now Stiles understands. Prepping may take a while, it may be tedious, but it feels oh-so-fucking-amazing to be inside another person (Derek). And now that Stiles is thinking on it, he assumes that an asshole is at least tighter than a vagina so there. (It seems a little embarrassing to remember worrying that Derek may have preferred dating or fucking a female compared to him.)

Derek is letting him do this. Stiles isn't stupid. He couldn't force himself on Derek (nor would he want to). Derek could stop this at any time. Derek could tell him no and not so gently push him off. Derek's an Alpha -- the pack's Alpha, and Derek has never done this before. Stiles feels incredibly special. Stiles _is_ special and just hopes he doesn't mess it up because Stiles knows that this is a big thing for Derek and them. It's like, one of those monumental steps forward. He hadn't planned on this happening, it hadn't been Stiles' intention either, but Stiles thinks it's good to be spontaneous.

Derek's arms come to wrap around him and Stiles honestly finds the added touch and show of comfort grounding. When a hand comes to pull his hair, Stiles is confused for a second until Derek explains.

Derek wants to watch him. It makes sense, but Stiles feels a tremble work through his body. Stiles licks his lips before he does do as Derek wants. He leans back and makes eye contact with Derek. Stiles opens his mouth to say something but then closes it. His heart is pounding in his chest and he doesn't want to say the wrong thing. But Stiles does know he has to move so he does that. He focuses on withdrawing a few inches before pushing back in and Stiles groans as Derek's body so perfectly clings around him. Stiles' eyes widen, his hips jerking back to repeat the motion and the sheer amount of pleasure Stiles' feels from such a small action is staggering.

"God, fuck, this is--" Stiles can't even finish the sentence. His pace is a little stilted but he tries his best. He thrusts into Derek's tight heat, shuddering and feeling far too close for comfort. Stiles leans down and presses a shaky kiss to Derek. "This... this okay?"

* * *

Derek knows how good this feels. He feels it every damn time that Stiles has let Derek fuck him in the past. That first push in is always the best, always the most shockingly intense, and Derek almost envies that Stiles is feeling it for the first time now. He hadn't known that Stiles had been a virgin when Derek had done this the first time, and he's pretty damn sure that'll be one of his regrets to the day he dies. But he can do this for Stiles, can give back like this, can make sure that Stiles knows how _good_ it can feel to fuck someone else. To fuck him. It strikes Derek that he'll likely do this again in the future, because he wants Stiles to know this pleasure too and it's not like he's ever going to let Stiles get it from anyone _else_.

So Derek holds him closer. He watches as Stiles draws back enough to look down at him, and there's a subtle greed in Derek's eyes as he looks Stiles over. He's flushed deeply, his pupils blown, his lips pink and his chin a little pink from scratching against Derek's beard, and he looks fucking _perfect_. Derek's next breath shudders out of him as Stiles seems to gear himself up.

Then Stiles' dick is drawing back and slowly pushing back in, and the _look_ on his face goes right to Derek's cock even without feeling mind-blowing. Stiles' groan is music to Derek's ears, and the knowledge that Stiles is feeling this now (will feel this every time he fucks Derek, as his healing will always make him recover after) makes something contented curl up in Derek's chest.

It's not really comfortable when Stiles' hips jerk in, and finding a rhythm is a little uncomfortable as Stiles tries to find a way to coordinate himself, but the discomfort doesn't matter. Derek bites his lip, feeling full, and every time pleasure spikes in Stiles' eyes, Derek swears he can feel it. So when Stiles leans in to kiss him, Derek kisses back immediately, without fail. He breathes in through his nose, and when he smells Stiles' scent, Derek groans softly in the back of his throat.

He's been fucking Stiles for long enough to know _exactly_ what he looks, sounds, feels, and smells like when he's about to come, and there's a hint of that on the air now. Derek nods, his hand stroking down Stiles' back as Stiles' hips jerk, chasing his pleasure. Derek's hand drops down to Stiles' ass, and there's a jolt of honest pleasure that goes through him when he feels the flex of muscle. It makes this very _real_ , and so when Derek carefully clenches down around Stiles' dick, it's _very_ deliberate.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's okay. C'mon, Stiles," Derek breathes, carefully rolling his hips to test it. "You can fuck me. I wanna do this for you."

* * *

He's gotta ask. Checking in is the right thing to do. Just because Derek could stop him, doesn't mean he would. Derek can be a stubborn idiot at times and Stiles doesn't want Derek suffering through this just to be fair to him or whatever. That sounds awful. It really is enough that Derek had been willing to try for him. Stiles doesn't have super heightened senses. He can only read Derek's expression and body language, he can only gauge Derek's vocalizations (when/if he gives them).

But Derek kisses him back and Stiles does hear the soft groan come from Derek and fuck yeah, he likes that sound. He likes being the reason for it. And as amazing as this feels, it's still foreign. He still feels awkward and uncoordinated but he tries his best. Derek's hand rubs his back and a warmth blooms in Stiles' chest at the show of comfort (because there's no way that Derek can't tell that he feels awkward and unsure of himself in this).

A hand comes to his ass and then Stiles feels Derek's body clench tighter around him and Stiles gasps, his eyes widening at the rush of pleasure. Derek's words spur him on -- encouraging and just what he needs to hear so Stiles gives a shaky nod and tries to keep his thrusts more even. Without a condom, Stiles can feel Derek's heat and body perfectly. He trembles, never looking away from Derek's face as his pulse increases and he grows closer.

Stiles fucks into Derek a little harder and he only lasts a few more thrusts until he's coming with a strangled groan and burying his head into Derek's shoulder as he all but collapses atop of Derek. He's panting through the aftershocks and being useless but he can't help it. It had been his first time doing the givin'.

* * *

Derek's not expecting a marathon here. He hadn't managed one his first time, and he knows how intense this can feel. Given that it had taken Derek years to even _approach_ the idea of anal with his partners, he can't imagine just jumping in first thing, but trust Stiles to go for it. So despite the fact that Derek's not expecting Stiles to last long, it doesn't curb his enjoyment. It might not feel as good as his dick in Stiles' body, but being able to watch Stiles more than makes up for it. Derek's dick is still hard as Stiles fucks him, which feels like a miracle in and of itself.

And being able to feel Stiles' muscles flex under his hand as Stiles' hips jerk and thrust just makes Derek feel more and more connected. He watches, his eyes hooded with intensity and the desire to see Stiles fall apart, and when he begins to scent the air and _knows_ that Stiles is getting even closer, he grips Stiles even tighter.

"C'mon, Stiles," Derek encourages, clenching around him as Stiles begins to thrust into him harder.

It's a little sore, but it's still good. But nothing - absolutely nothing - can really prepare Derek for the wave of contented satisfaction that just up and _floods_ him when Stiles suddenly tenses and cries out, thrusting in deep as he comes. Derek feels the pulse and twitch of Stiles' cock, feels the heat and throb, smells the salt-tang of come, and Derek growls low in his throat as Stiles jerks and twitches and then collapses on top of him.

Immediately, breathing hard himself, Derek's arms come up to wind around Stiles' back. He buries his face in against Stiles' throat, breathing in his scent - _their scent_ greedily - and Derek feels something warm flood through his chest as he clutches Stiles in close.

And fuck, he can say it now. He doesn't have to bite it all back, so he doesn't. In soft, barely-audible murmurs, Derek tells him he'd done well, tells him how hot he is, how fucking _perfect_ he is. He says _only you_ and means it, and fuck, it's an amazing feeling.

He rubs his cheek against Stiles' shoulder until it's probably more than a little raw, and it takes a few minutes for Derek's arms to unwind, for him to even consider letting Stiles go. Had he come? No. But this feels like a different kind of release, and Derek thinks he likes it.

* * *

It's really something else. Stiles hears and feels Derek growl as he lets himself flop onto Derek like a dead fish. Derek's arms enfold him and Stiles feels so impossibly close and smothered in Derek'ness that he feels like he's died and gone to heaven. Or something. Derek inhales their mixed scents and it makes Stiles all the more proud and satisfied that he'd been able to come inside Derek and that Derek is smelling it and liking it. Plus, now they don't need to hide or care and fuck, sneaking around may be kinda hot at times, but the ability to jizz freely is pretty damn nice.

Stiles' eyes slide shut as he hears Derek murmur his version of sweet nothings. And Derek might not always be the best with words but that makes his words all the more impactful now. Stiles basks in the praise and while he doubts he'd been all that great, he's not about to go arguing with Derek over it. Derek may claim that he's fucking perfect but Stiles thinks _they're_ fucking perfect -- just the two of them. Go love!

Stiles lets himself calm down, his pulse and breathing slowing as he stays cuddled up to Derek. And it's a weird sensation having his dick soften inside of Derek and Stiles squirms a little as Derek lessens his hold. He may be a little awkward, but Stiles does at least pull out slowly as he can manage.

It then dawns on him. "Oh my god, I didn't even go for your prostate or hit it at all and you didn't get off either." Stiles is aghast, sitting up beside Derek and looking at Derek's cock and then up to his face as he winces. "Sorry... I guess I just need to practice. I was just so focused on stretching you and then not coming in like ten seconds..."

* * *

This is definitely something that Derek thinks he wants to do again despite the fact that he hadn't come. Honestly, he's always been a believer that orgasm is the goal, but this... this has kind of changed things. Getting to watch Stiles' expression pinch and go lax in bliss, getting to hear each shudder in his breathing, getting to feel the snap of Stiles' hips and the flex of his muscles, being able to taste the sweat on his skin, to smell the bliss between them? That _means_ something more than pleasure, and Derek really kind of likes it. Even now, with Stiles' weight heavy on him, Stiles' dick softening inside of him, Derek still really likes it. He feels good, connected. It's a nice feeling.

Maybe it's a little awkward when he feels Stiles' cock slide out of him; that _does_ feel weird, and Derek clenches without thinking before he realizes he shouldn't. And yeah, the wetness and warmth of come sliding out of his ass is... interesting. But the scent of Stiles' come is thick on the air, and Derek likes the feeling, even if it's weird.

Then suddenly Stiles tenses and Derek looks up at him, curious and kind of half-paying-attention, because he feels pretty nice, kind of blissed out. But when Stiles blurts out what he does, Derek's confusion eases into a smile, amused and clearly fond. He snorts softly as his head falls back against his pillow, and when he cuffs the back of Stiles' head, the touch is gentle.

"Don't be sorry, idiot. I liked it. I'm not complaining. It still felt good. Weird... very weird. But good. I could have reminded you, but I wanted to watch _you_ more. Besides," Derek adds, and his smile eases into a small smirk, "you did mention something about riding me. If you still want that, and when you're ready, I mean. And we can definitely do this again."

* * *

Well, fuck. Now Stiles feels a bit like a dick. It hadn't been his intention. He had wanted Derek to feel really good and enjoy himself and maybe even get off. Getting fingered _can_ feel good, little awkward and uncomfortable, but still good. Getting fucked isn't like perfect either, but it's intense and demands everything of his senses and Stiles kinda loves it. He can't zone out, his mind doesn't wander.

Derek is still hard and that's a relief. And then Derek makes his trademark amused snort and Stiles is glancing up at his boyfriend's face just in time for Derek to playfully smack him on the back of his head. Reassurance comes next and Stiles has a half-grimace, half-wry smile on his face as he listens. It does ease Stiles' concerns hearing Derek assert that he had liked it and it had felt good. When Derek mentions the riding thing, Stiles perks up. He definitely wants that. After venturing out into the unknown, Stiles is totally game for something more normal.

"Yeah to me riding you and yeah to us doing this again," Stiles chimes up, clearly pleased to be moving on from his noobiness.

Stiles wastes no time in grabbing at the lube and nearly lunging back at Derek. They kiss for a good while, alternating between slower and teasing, to rougher and heated. They enjoy themselves and Stiles lets himself relax and let go of his perceived shortcomings of his first time giving Derek the D. Eventually Stiles' patience does run thin and he thrusts the lube at Derek. Derek sits up and Stiles climbs into his lap. They continue kissing as Derek carefully works him open and Stiles feels himself slowly grow aroused again.

* * *

As far as Derek's concerned, Stiles hasn't made a mistake. He feels well-used, which is an odd sensation, but not a bad one. And despite Stiles' embarrassment and uncertainty, Derek doesn't think he'd done anything wrong. It had still felt good and he still thinks he wants to do it again someday. But when he suggests that Stiles can still ride him, and when he sees the way Stiles' expression brightens immediately, Derek can't help a small smirk, and Stiles all but lunges at him in record time. Derek catches him easily, and while being kissed after being lunged at is an interesting experience, they quickly find their rhythm in that too. And it's fucking _good_. For someone who had just come not a few minutes ago, Stiles is just as enthusiastic as Derek is. He doesn't make Derek wait for each kiss, and while a few of them are gentle and almost sweet, a few definitely aren't.

It takes a few minutes for Stiles to shove the lube in Derek's hand and, snorting a soft laugh into the kiss they're sharing, Derek murmurs, "impatient," against Stiles' lips, but it's a fonder sound. With a warmer chuckle, he pulls Stiles up onto his lap once he's seated himself (as this angle is better for fingering Stiles open) and Derek coats his fingers in lube. He's still careful when he reaches back, pressing his fingers to Stiles' hole in a slow, gentle rub, because it _has_ been a few weeks since they've even attempted this and he doesn't want to hurt Stiles by pushing too much.

Stiles is the picture of enthusiasm, though. He squirms and pushes back, and insists, and it isn't too long before Derek's pressing one finger into him, nice and slow. The sounds that Stiles makes have Derek's dick aching but he doesn't rush. He presses and gently goes about stretching Stiles open, with rougher, half-whispered comments about how fucking _hot_ and tight Stiles is even now. It's been a few weeks, and the thought of sinking back into Stiles' body and feeling him clench and twitch around Derek's cock is thrilling. Derek almost feels a little drunk on it as he carefully moves from one finger to two, and then eventually to three, with careful twists and thrusts of his fingers.

Normally, now would be the time where Derek reached for the condoms. But as he curls his fingers and gently rubs at Stiles' prostate just to see him twitch, Derek wets his lips, considers, and then decides to ask.

"Condom? I don't mind."

* * *

Yeah, Stiles is a little impatient. He wants to get back to his original plan. Yeah, he'd detoured when he'd accidentally blurted out what he had about wanting to fuck Derek. It hadn't been Stiles' intention to do it _now_ , but it's not bad to break away from plans. He feels closer to Derek. How could Stiles _not_ be? His dick has been _inside_ of Derek. Derek had done that for him. Derek had let him -- despite the fact that apparently an Alpha isn't really supposed to be giving it up and 'submitting' like that. God, the love boner is real.

Derek is gentle with fingering him, gentler than he has been in the past and Stiles lets himself bask in the precise attention. They haven't fucked in weeks so it feels far more intense to have Derek's slick fingers working him open carefully. Stiles lets himself moan and enjoy it, he pushes back when he can, encouraging and getting antsy. It may have felt really fucking great to be inside of Derek, but this is familiar and intense. Derek had been his first and something like that isn't so easily forgettable and maybe Stiles is just more of a bottom, whatever. It works for them.

He's full of Derek's fingers and half hard again and Stiles drinks up all of Derek's praise. He tries to kiss Derek whenever he remembers to, brushing his mouth against Derek's cheek and mouth. He promptly stops that when Derek's fingers have him jerking as his prostate is rubbed. It honestly takes Stiles a few seconds to process what Derek had just asked.

"What? No, no of course not," Stiles blurts out.

He hadn't used a condom and he wants to be treated to the same. He actually likes the idea of Derek being able to smell them each with their come mixing and whatnot. Maybe it's gross, but he thinks Derek is going to like that kind of thing, Derek having his scent on him like he's marking Stiles as his. He pushes Derek down, or rather, indicates that he wants Derek to lay down and Stiles takes the lube from him.

Stiles applies some lube to Derek's dick quickly before he's getting up into a squat and trying to work out the logistics of sitting down on Derek's cock. He reaches between his legs, holding Derek's cock still as he positions his ass over it. Derek's hands come to steady him and Stiles doesn't look away as he purposefully rubs himself against the tip of Derek's dick and then slowly pushes himself down on it.

* * *

It's a safe question, one that Derek honestly doesn't mind. While his instincts feel like they're snarling at the very idea of needing to wear a condom while Derek can smell Stiles' come inside of him like a brand, if Stiles wants that extra barrier, Derek won't fault him. It can be messy and some people don't like it, and they've never done it before. Not like this. Derek doesn't miss that he'd been the first one to break that previously-established rule and something like pride howls in his chest as he watches Stiles' expression pinch and twitch in pleasure before relaxing in a dazed confusion. Stiles looks at him like he can't really see him, and while it takes a second for him to process it, when he _does_ answer, he's emphatic.

 _No_. Stiles doesn't want Derek to wear a condom, and Derek feels a shiver of anticipation slide through him at the thought of feeling Stiles, skin-on-skin. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes a little wider as he nods. Then Stiles' hands are on his chest, pushing, urging, and Derek does as he's being silently commanded to (without thinking about it; sometimes he can give in easily). So he's left watching in anticipatory awe as Stiles takes the lube and then reaches down, spreading it on Derek's cock. Derek grunts, his hips giving a small twitch just at the touch but he keeps himself as still as he can as Stiles straddles him.

Derek's left watching, his eyes beginning to bleed red at the edges as Stiles settles on top of him, holding Derek's cock steady. Derek quickly reaches down, setting his hands on Stiles' hips to steady him, and to feel the shift of muscles over his skin. Derek squeezes, encouraging. And when Stiles meets his eyes and then begins to sink down after a teasing rub of Derek's cock against his hole? Derek can't bite back the hiss that escapes from between his teeth, his eyes bleeding red in their entirety as the head of his cock is slowly enveloped in a _blissful_ heat. Derek's back arches a little but he makes sure to keep himself still, not wanting to rush or force this time as Stiles works his way down. It's intense in a way that makes Derek want to thrust, to flip them over and pin Stiles and bite his nape and fuck him properly, but he wants this so much more.

It's eye contact and intimacy. It's a mutual flush of pleasure breaking out onto their faces as Stiles' hole wetly grips in a fucking perfect wet silken heat. It's Derek's hands shaking as intensity burns. And it's the ragged edge to Derek's voice when he finally manages to choke out a, " _fuck_ , Stiles. Take-- take your time. Just... god, you feel good."

* * *

This isn't a position they've been in before. Normally it's just Derek fucking his brains out with Stiles on his back and clinging, or on his stomach and Derek behind him. Derek's grip is steady on his waist and Stiles appreciates - and likely needs - the added support. They don't look away and at the sight of red flickering into Derek's eyes, heat flares up through Stiles. Stiles likes this position, Derek is watching him and laying below him, being patient for him, waiting to have Stiles move further down on his cock...

It _is_ hot, but it's also meaningful. Stiles doesn't really know how to explain it, but it feels different. This isn't some frenzied sexy fuck. They don't need to rush. And this is something Stiles has asked for and Derek is giving this to him _too._ Derek might not be the best with words, but Derek is showing him that he's loved and Stiles feels it in every molecule in his body. He may be young and considered inexperienced, but he knows this is love. It just fucking is.

Stiles' mouth is a flat line of concentration but his eyes are wide and his breathing controlled. He can feel Derek's hands shake against him as if holding himself back is strenuous (which it is, Stiles now understands). It is a bit of a workout, but the strain helps him focus as he sinks further down on Derek's cock. Stiles can tell just how affected Derek is by the gravelly tone of his voice.

Stiles bottoms out, hard heat filling him and it's intense and perfect and he shakes as his hands come to rest in Derek's chest hair, scratching lightly there.

"You-you feel good too, baby," Stiles murmurs, a smile finally breaking out onto his face. Stiles rolls his hips, feeling the absolute fullness of Derek's cock inside of him. _He_ personally can't tell that Derek isn't wearing a condom, but he's pretty sure Derek can.

* * *

Every slow movement that Stiles makes has Derek's muscles trembling. It's a perfect feeling, Stiles' body hot and tight around his cock as Stiles slowly eases himself down. Derek feels breathless with it as Stiles works his way down, the head of Derek's cock sliding smoothly into him, and _fuck_ , he can feel the difference. Derek's never really risked this before, fucking without a condom. Definitely not _making love_ without a condom. He's never cared about the alternative, not quite to this degree anyway.

But with Stiles... with Stiles he suddenly cares, and as Stiles works himself down with slow, careful rolls of his hips, Derek can't imagine _not_ doing this again. Every inch is all wet, slick, silken heat, and it feels amazing. But as always, it's watching Stiles that _really_ gets to Derek.

Stiles concentrates carefully as he lets Derek help him, supporting him and helping him rest his arms and legs when he needs to. It takes time, as it's been weeks since they've done this, and Derek is _very_ careful to avoid hurting Stiles. He doesn't let him go too fast, and he doesn't let Stiles exert himself too much. And when Stiles' ass finally comes to press against Derek's thighs and all that _perfect_ heat envelops his cock, Derek curses roughly and tilts his head back, a deep, pleasured ache simmering hotly inside of him as Stiles' fingers press against his chest, scratching at it and playing with the hair there.

When he manages to hold back the desire to just _take_ , Derek opens his eyes and sees Stiles' smile immediately. Returning it, feeling a little dazed, Derek's hands stroke at Stiles' hips, keeping him steady. He doesn't stop Stiles from rolling his hips, though, and the _feeling_ of clutching, gripping wet heat has him growling, a low, rumbling sound. It feels different this time, feels like _more_ , and Derek isn't sure how the lack of a condom can make this much difference. Or maybe it's just that there's no more miscommunication between them. Maybe it's not the condom at all; it's emotion.

"God, you're so fucking hot," Derek grinds out, but despite the roughness in his voice, there's affection clear in it. He hadn't missed the pet name again and he feels settled because of it. His hands grip slightly and, as Stiles moves again, Derek carefully moves him, just a little. It's no more than an inch or two of movement, but the feeling of his cock sinking into Stiles' heat, the knowledge that Stiles is _letting_ him? That's almost too much. "Is... is this okay?"

* * *

It's always intense with Derek but this is different. The lights are on. They're actually checking in with each other, admiring each other even. It's sweet and hot at the same time. It's sort of like learning each other for the first time or appreciating each other in a different, more indulgent way. Stiles has a little more control like this, but Derek can still affect things too. Stiles is full and safe with Derek's grip keeping him steady. There's still unknowns about what's happening in the fall, but Stiles knows they'll make it work. Life isn't always easy and the best things are worth the fight.

It has been weeks since they've fucked and Derek's care to isn't missed by Stiles (and it only makes him want to fucking kiss Derek's beautiful face all the more). Stiles enjoys the almost-too-much feeling of Derek's cock all the way inside coupled with the angle given the new position. He has no doubts that this will be repeated in the future with them. Derek looks like he's enjoying this too. Stiles can tell by Derek cursing under his breath, by his head tilted back. Stiles feels thrilled by being able to give this to Derek.

Derek smiles back at him and it's crazy but Stiles wishes he had his phone to snap a picture of it to be able to revisit the memory. But then there could be a risk of someone else seeing it and Stiles doesn't want this smile to be seen by anyone else. This is _his_ smile, he's earned it. Derek gives a pleased growl after Stiles wiggles a bit and it makes his own dick harden further. Seeing and hearing and feeling Derek in pleasure _because_ of him is Stiles' own high.

Stiles can hear the fondness in Derek's tone. Stiles doesn't exactly _feel_ so fucking hot but he's not about to argue as Stiles knows now is hardly the time to argue semantics. Derek then lifts him a little before letting him sink back down and Stiles groans softly. Derek's question has Stiles shooting Derek a fond but exasperated look.

"You can smell how much I like it," Stiles points out with a grin on his flushed face. "'m hard again too... But just... Just let me move for a bit. You take a load off." Stiles then lifts himself slowly before sitting back down on Derek's cock. Stiles fucks himself slowly, his eyes wide and fixated on Derek.

"I love you, Derek," Stiles murmurs as he just rocks back on Derek's dick, enjoying the fullness and purposefully clenching around it.

* * *

Derek feels rent open without the pain. He feels like painless claws have lodged in his chest and ripped him open for Stiles to see, and the knowledge feels like the good kind of fire under his skin as Stiles' heat moves slowly over his cock. It's been an eternity since they've done this and Derek is careful to keep from hurting Stiles, but the desire to snap his hips up, to fuck into Stiles' heat the way he once would have is pretty damn intense.

He doesn't do it; Derek tempers the urge, but it's close. All he wants to do is bask in this, in the sight, the scent, the _feel_. So he focuses on Stiles' grin, on the teasing, breathless lilt to his voice as Stiles' hips move slowly, and on how connected he feels like this after so long.

His question is answered and while Derek lets out a small huff of a laugh, it doesn't take him long to give in to Stiles' request. If Stiles wants to be in charge, Derek can do that for him. He groans softly and lets his hands fall away, lets Stiles' hands on his chest serve as a proper brace for him to move, and Derek _basks_ as Stiles begins to lift himself up and then slowly sink back down.

It feels _amazing_ in a different way. It's not as frantic as it would be otherwise, but he has the knowledge that Stiles is doing this because _he_ wants to, which is damn hot. And when he clenches, when Stiles' muscles twitch and tighten around his cock, Derek's teeth bare in a small, fanged hiss. The muscles in his abdomen clenching and flexing as he breathes and fights back the urge to rock his hips up. Stiles can undoubtedly feel the tremble in his hips, can undoubtedly feel the shake in his muscles, but Derek doesn't hide it. Instead he watches, half-dazed, as Stiles just... does this for him.

The words, when they come, have a sound close to a whine only just eking out from Derek's throat before he manages to clamp it down. Breathless as his cock throbs and aches, Derek nods jerkily, wetting his lips desperately.

"You too," he manages, his hands touching Stiles' thighs and stroking, but not guiding. Derek just wants to touch. "Love you too. _Fuck_ , Stiles."

* * *

Stiles has a few ideas about romance. He gets flowers and chocolates and thoughtful cards (although they're kinda a waste of money). He can see that a candlelit dinner and rose petals could be nice... But that kind of shit wouldn't work with Derek and Stiles doesn't think he's really into the normal expected stuff anyway. It all seems like a cliche. And maybe expressions of love during sex aren't very original but it feels monumental for Stiles.

They've fucked a lot and it's been hot and hard and it left Stiles both sore and sated. He's had bruises and he's shuddered in oversensitivity. Derek has pretty much rocked his world. There's been a hell of a lot of dirty talk but also bitten off moans and hands clasping over Stiles' mouth to keep him quiet.

There hasn't been much, if any, of _this_.

They don't look away from each other. Their connection draws on and Derek may not be as emotive as him, but there's still twitches of pleasure that Stiles sees. Stiles drinks in how Derek's muscles clench, how Derek is holding himself back from just fucking up into him. And Stiles would undoubtedly enjoy it, but that's not what he wants for them. Not right now.

Usually it's always Derek hardcore givin' it, holding him down or up and being all literal sex god and Stiles is like boneless and in ecstasy. This time Derek can just enjoy it. Derek can enjoy his attention. And when Derek responds, Stiles feels like his heart is all twitterpated. He really freakin' loves hearing it, loves hearing that Derek loves _him_. Stiles settles himself back on Derek's cock before leaning over and letting his forearms rest on either side of Derek's head. Stiles' face is close, his mouth hovering over Derek's as he rolls his hips slowly and grinds against Derek's cock.

"You know you're a good guy, right?" Stiles murmurs. "You're _my_ good guy." His lips brush a sweet kiss on Derek's mouth.

* * *

The words feel terrifying once they're out. Derek doesn't do 'I love you's. 'I love you' usually ends with the death of the person he'd said it to. His mom, Laura, the rest of his family, even Peter, at one point a lifetime ago. He'd said it to Paige and she'd died in his arms, and he'd said it to Kate before she'd immolated everything of value. She'd mocked him incessantly after, years later, and so the words have been so damn tainted by life that Derek's response is still to shove them down, to turn away from the reality, to hide.

But he can't hide right now. Stiles is straddling him, his knees bracketing Derek's hips, his weight a comforting press, his body hot and tight. His gaze locked so completely on Derek's eyes that even were Derek to close his, he knows it wouldn't be enough. So he doesn't try. He watches the spark of pleasure in Stiles' eyes as the words register, watches the warmth on Stiles' face, and when Stiles sits back on Derek's cock, Derek can't help the low growl that escapes him, his hands beginning to grip at Stiles' thighs before he remembers how easily Stiles can bruise.

It feels _amazing_ , though, when Stiles leans down over him. Derek's instincts give him flashes of words, like _warm_ and _safe_ even though it's ridiculous. Something warm and fond bleeds out into his chest, and Derek immediately moves one hand to Stiles' back, touching what he can as Stiles grinds down in slow rolls of his hips that have Derek's teeth clenching in pleasure.

But it's not just that. It's the words. And Derek... he's not sure he wants to listen. Stiles calls him good, a good guy, and it goes so wildly against everything Derek's thought about himself for years that it feels alien to even think. Protests spring to mind, examples of Derek _not_ being good. Trying to kill Lydia when he'd thought she'd been the Kanima, almost killing Jackson on Peter's orders, killing his uncle, and so, _so_ much more...

But _Stiles_ believes it. Derek can hear the steadiness of his pulse and it feels almost choking as Stiles kisses him. Derek clutches him close, gripping tighter, and then he finally gives in, rolling his hips up, grinding in deep, but slow. He kisses back because it's easier than talking, than acknowledging, and when the kiss breaks, Derek shudders and leans in, hiding his face against Stiles' shoulder as he grinds out Stiles' name. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop taking.

This... this is his. _Stiles_ is his. And the more the thought hits, the closer Derek feels.

* * *

Derek _is_ a good guy. He's not the only good guy, of course but he definitely is one of the good guys. Derek _is_ his good guy because Derek is his boyfriend -- his partner. Not his partner in crime like Scott, no. Everyone needs best friends like that, but Derek is his partner in the way that they love each other and they're gonna work whatever needs to be worked out to stay together and get better. Stiles has seen Derek try to do good countless times, but Stiles doesn't think Derek actually knows it.

So he tells it to Derek now. Even though they're not the best at communicating, it's something they're working on. While Stiles may talk a lot in general, he's not necessarily saying what needs to be said. It wasn't even really an option before but now that things are out in the open, he has the chance and now Stiles isn't going to hold anything back. It also has to be pointed out that Derek's dick is in his ass and Stiles gets to say whatever he wants to say, them's the rules. Derek can listen to his pulse all he wants too because it's not a lie. It's the truth.

Derek holds him tighter and Stiles knows that this is a significant moment between them. Derek's hips lift and his cock grinds in deep and perfect and Stiles gives a muffled moan as Derek kisses him back. Action has always been easier for them. Doing, taking, reacting. Stiles gets it. He also gets that when Derek leans in and grits out his name that he's essentially hiding and overhwelmed. Stiles pushes back against Derek's cock, encouraging.

"Yeah baby, it's okay, I'm here," Stiles whispers. "I've got you... And you-you've got me." He doesn't need to look Derek in the eye, he can provide safety, he can provide refuge.

* * *

Stiles is it. The thought strikes Derek so hard that it practically winds him as he clutches Stiles close, drinking in his scent, his warmth, the sound of each moan. Derek's never had the thought before, and it's fucking terrifying, because something irrevocably always goes wrong. Paige had died, Kate had killed everyone, and Derek doesn't _get_ to be good. He doesn't get to be stable or comfortable or even happy. He's the Alpha, sure, but is he any _good?_

He'd dislocated Stiles' shoulder due to hurt feelings. He's killed before. He freezes if he can't attack a threat, and talking candidly about his feelings still seems like vulnerability and danger. He's not a _good_ Alpha. He doesn't _get_ people the way that Peter does (and Derek doesn't want to) and he certainly doesn't get people the way that Stiles does.

Which is why Stiles is it, his mind tells him as he breathes in great breaths of Stiles' scent, as Derek slowly rolls his hips up, grinding in deep. He clutches Stiles close, Stiles' cock trapped between them, and while Derek hides his face, he can't hide everything else. Stiles is it. Stiles is the one who understands the pack when Derek can't. Stiles is the counter to Derek's bad attitude. Stiles is the glue who holds him together, and the unofficial glue that holds the pack together. Even Jackson (though he won't admit it) values Stiles in some way.

Stiles is important, and as Derek clutches him close, something in his instincts seems to almost... shift. There's warmth where there wasn't before. There's the acknowledgement of the role that Stiles plays, how he's a good counterpoint to Derek's own failings (and maybe vice-versa?)

It _means_ something. Derek feels his wolf - his instincts - stirring in his chest, feels the urge to Bite rear up, and he shoves it down with a low growl. But as he guides Stiles down on his cock, as they rock and grind and cling, Derek feels a tightening inside, something warm and _right_ , and it manifests as more pleasure.

He groans softly, the sound broken, and he nods against Stiles' shoulder in answer, managing a rough, "yeah, yeah, I do," that sounds far too thick to his ears and stings his throat to say. But it still feels good, and Derek feels the pressure of pleasure in the base of his dick, like Stiles has suddenly started to clench around him. It's a little confusing, because he's _pretty_ sure that Stiles isn't doing it, but it feels too good. Derek presses up, grinding deeper with rougher groans.

* * *

They've never done it like this before but somehow Stiles thinks the position and the pace aren't the only factors in this. Right now Stiles feels so connected with Derek, with every breath that he feels exhaled against his skin, Derek is close and connected. And Stiles doesn't mind that Derek all but clings to him. This is what love's about, right? Providing comfort and just being there and present. Stiles' words may have shaken Derek up, but Still doesn't need to keep talking about it to try and fix it. Stiles has the idea that maybe this is exactly what Derek needs anyway.

Stiles is full of Derek's cock and he purposefully pushes back, encouraging Derek to grind up into him. In this moment, Stiles _is_ curious what's all going on in Derek's head. He could ask, he could try and guess too, but Stiles doesn't. Not that patience is a virtue that Stiles possesses, but he can try now. Derek is worth him trying. He lets Derek clutch him in close and Stiles tries to honestly process everything but he's not sure he can. Maybe this isn't something he can logically try and think about. It just _is_.

Stiles barely hears Derek's response because the sensation is subtly changing. Derek's dick feels somehow _bigger_ and it's a little uncomfortable but more unexpected because Stiles is exactly aware how Derek's dick is supposed to feel inside of him, he's practically a pro. Stiles shudders, groaning and trying his best to adjust to it.

"Is my good guy gonna fill me up?" Stiles asks with a shaky voice. "Want you to come inside of me, Derek." Stiles' hands grip at Derek's pillow as he now purposefully clenches around Derek.

* * *

There's too much sensory and emotional input to really put two and two together right now. Stiles is tight around him, his body hot and silken, tighter than normal, and Derek can feel pleasure burning brighter under his skin. He feels stripped bare of his defenses like this, with Stiles' arms beside his head, with Stiles' bare skin against his own, and Stiles' voice low and coaxing and comforting in his ear.

He feels more vulnerable than he had with Stiles' dick up his ass, and that's saying something. But it's good. It's right. It's his instincts settling and his heart feeling fit to burst. It's pleasure clawing through his body and each breath coming in soft gasps against Stiles' skin, and it's an unfailing drive to grind in deep, like an itch in the back of his mind. Derek doesn't know why he _needs_ to, but the instinct is just suddenly there, like an insatiable hunger.

So when Stiles shudders and then coaxes him, his voice low and _just_ so damn right, Derek's groan sounds almost pained. It's only now that he realizes how close he feels, and everything just compounds. Stiles' weight atop him is exactly what Derek wants, but the scent of them mixed together and the warm-wet feeling of Stiles' come undoubtedly dripping from Derek's body only adds to it. He tightens his hold on Stiles' thighs, his muscles shuddering. But it isn't until Stiles suddenly clenches around him that Derek's breath escapes him in a low, brittle shout against Stiles' shoulder.

He tenses as pleasure sears through him, and Derek only manages a weak, "Stiles, fuck, _Stiles_ ," under his breath before he's grabbing at Stiles' thighs tight enough to bruise and grinding up so hard that Derek feels it in his core. He doesn't know why or what the purpose of it is, he just knows that it's _right_.

He distantly realizes there's a flicker of resistance, but while he is confused, Derek doesn't stop. He grinds up harder, a low, rumbling growl in his throat as his eyes bleed red. And when his hips finally snap up, when Derek feels something shift and Stiles' muscles clamping down around him, the bolt of pleasure that hits him is so intense it's almost terrifying.

Derek draws away from Stiles' shoulder with a ragged gasp, red eyes hooded in blissful confusion as he grits his teeth and arches under Stiles. He comes like it's violent, the intensity robbing him of breath, and the pressure around his cock so damn good that it almost scares him.

Something's different. Derek knows it is. He just can't think past the flood of pleasure as he fills Stiles up, taking him, _claiming_ him.

* * *

Stiles isn't lying. He's not just talking for the sake of talking (which he admittedly does at times). Stiles _does_ want Derek to come inside of him and for him to also smell like Derek. He imagines that Derek will be able to smell their scents mixing and Stiles is pretty sure that Derek is gonna like it too. Stiles isn't a werewolf, he doesn't understand all the nuances of smells and claim and instincts, but he tries. Between quizzing Scott, Erica and Derek, he's learned a bit though.

Fucking, sex, lovemaking... It's all intense and demanding and Stiles could easily lose himself to it. He has before. Derek has given him more than a few mind blowing orgasms, but Stiles tries his best to stay present and in this moment. He doesn't want this to end in some pleasured blur like the wetdreams he used to have as a teenager. Stiles wants to remember the feel of Derek underneath him, the scratch of stubble and body hair, the slide of shared sweat. Stiles doesn't want to miss any small detail, not the way Derek moans lowly, not the way Derek's hands grip his thighs, the way Derek shakes underneath him.

And after Stiles clenches around hot hardness inside him, Derek nearly shouts and then Derek is going rigid under him and Stiles thinks he hears his name but he can't focus on it when Derek thrusts up and there is a sudden sharp flare of pain that shoots through Stiles as he feels like he's somehow stretching more (which makes no sense).

Stiles is lifting his head up, eyes blinking rapidly in confusion but Derek merely looks super blissed out with his eyes red. Stiles feels flooded with come but then he's jerking because there's a very sudden real insistent pressure against his prostate and it doesn't relent.

Stiles gasps and he clenches his hands into fists as he trembles. He's breathing harshly and trying to process the almost-throbbing deep inside of him. He feels his own internal muscles contract and Stiles just blurts out, "What the fu--" But he must be coming because he's shaking and squirming against Derek's cock as he nestles his head against Derek's neck.

* * *

Derek scents the flare of discomfort like it's coming at him from the end of a long, winding hallway. A part of his instincts are alarmed at the scent of it, but mostly they feel pleased, which doesn't really make as much sense. Much as Derek would _like_ to explain it away, he can't. His mind feels paralyzed, his muscles rigid, and the pleasure is sharper than normal, leaving him breathless and shaking. It's only distantly that Derek manages to hold back the urge to all but crush Stiles to his chest, because he knows he _would_ crush him despite what his instincts want.

The urge to bury his face in against Stiles' neck and sink his fangs into him is almost overwhelming, but then Stiles is saying... something, Derek can't really hear it. He doesn't need to. Stiles' body clenches down around him, locking and pulsing in a way that indicates orgasm, and Derek's senses are flooded with the mixed scent of their come. He feels hot wetness against his chest and growls out his appreciation, his hands sliding up to settle on Stiles' back instead. Derek feels the tremors there, feels the tension of orgasm, and when Stiles buries his face against Derek's neck, Derek rumbles a low sound, half-pleasured, half-soothing.

His pleasure feels... intense. And long. Derek's not sure how long it's already lasted when it sinks down to a low, pulsing wave that feels a little like aftershocks but better. He's taken aback as he begins to piece his mind back together, breathing roughly, startled by his own instincts. It's only distantly that his mind clears enough to scent the dim pain on the air, and Derek noses in against Stiles' shoulder without thinking. He rumbles another sound that Stiles can clearly feel, being laid out on Derek's chest, but something is different. Not _wrong_. Just... not normal.

Derek only pieces it together when he moves to shift, hoping to ease Stiles' discomfort, and that's when he feels the flare of sensation around the base of his dick, like he's... stuck? Blinking hard, one of Derek's hands slide down to Stiles' hole, touching it carefully, and his breath hitches in shock when he feels the outline of his dick, but it's not... his dick. But it is.

"What the Hell?" He manages, sounding about as shocked as Stiles. He's quiet for a second, and then he turns his head, glancing at Stiles with a frown. "Shit, Stiles. Are... are you okay?"

* * *

This is a crazy-weird orgasm. That's what Stiles thinks as he experiences it. It's good, of course. It's really good. All orgasms with Derek are really good. But Stiles feels wrung out and extremely sensitive, he's distantly aware of himself coming over Derek, but that's nothing new. What's new or different is how fucking _full_ he feels. It's almost too much but Stiles doesn't attempt to pull off or crawl away. He takes it, he clings to Derek as pleasure pulses through him.

Stiles hears Derek growl in response and it's really freakin' hot to be the reason for that sound. Derek can feel his come, can smell it and Stiles is living for it. Derek's hands come to his back and Stiles doesn't feel alone or distant in his pleasure as they hold onto each other. Derek seems to still be getting off, maybe? Stiles doesn't know why Derek's orgasm is lasting longer than it normally does, but he's going to assume it's a good thing.

Derek suddenly shifts and Stiles is treated to...

Derek's dick really not moving at all? Stiles groans his discomfort through gritted teeth. It's actually more weird than uncomfortable. He feels one of Derek's hands roam lower, fingers probing around his full whole and then things are starting to maybe, just maybe slide into place. Derek sounds confused and Stiles' mouth is moving without thought.

"You guys knot like dogs!?" Bursts out of him. Stiles lifts his head up to stare down at Derek. "And yeah, I'm fine, really fucking _full_ , but I'm fine. And apparently, we're stuck."

* * *

Even with his mind kind of blissfully numbed by orgasm, Derek's just confused enough that a small thread of distress begins to work its way through him. He doesn't draw back because something tells him he shouldn't. Still, feeling the way Stiles' hole is stretched so tightly around his dick, feeling the heat and bliss and feeling each shudder go through Stiles' body, Derek knows _something_ is different. He's just not putting two and two together because this has never happened before and Derek doesn't know how to go about even _asking_ what this is.

Then Stiles groans (and Derek considers trying to take his pain) and before Derek can really think on this, Stiles blurts out something about a _knot_ and Derek tenses so quickly in shock that he almost forgets to stay still. He does lean back (without moving his hips) and as he does, Stiles does the same and looks down at him. There's a moment where their eyes meet - Stiles looking kind of incredulous and Derek looking torn between shock and mortification - and then Stiles hastens to reassure Derek that he's fine.

Which is... good. But that doesn't make this any less mortifying. Derek wets his lips, trying to think of _something_ to say, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing that isn't a moan or soft curse, because the residual twitching and pulses of Stiles' orgasm feel _good_.

"This... this has never happened before," Derek finally manages, and he can't hide the shock in his voice at all. He sounds half-shaken, and maybe a little defensive. So sue him. "Fuck, I'm glad you're okay, but I'm sorry. This-- God, are you sure? It's--" Derek cuts off to wet his lips. "You're _really_ tight..."

* * *

Stiles is pretty sure that he would remember if any of the wolf buddies had mentioned something like knotting. Knotting!? _Knotting_? It's absurd. Well, it seems absurd, but werewolves are obviously wolf-like and real male wolves knot. It's a canine penis thing and Stiles had honestly never thought he'd ben thinking about dog dicks but apparently he is and it's a thing he's now dealing with. Shit. What a riot.

Derek seems both embarrassed and surprised by what Stiles has said. But that doesn't change the fact of the matter. Derek's cock is deep inside and not budging and this whole thing is funky weird, but it's not bad, no. There's still the aftershocks of his second orgasm racing through him and Derek's cock is pressing insistently against his prostate. It's a lot to take in and he can't escape (which is kinda hot too).

Derek informs him that this has never happened before and Stiles thinks two things. One: he's super glad that he's the one to de-cherry Derek like this and two: why _him_ and why _now_? Maybe that's three things, whatever. Derek kinda sounds cute all surprised and a little defensive.

Derek comments that he's really tight and all Stiles can retort with is, "And you're really stretching me here." His voice is ragged with pleasure and playfulness. "Like you needed the boost to your ego, man." Stiles huffs out a laugh before he pecks a quick kiss on Derek's mouth. "You don't need to be sorry... But, were you aware that this kind of thing can happen? How long does it last? Do you know why it happened?" Stiles can't help but shoot out his questions as he focuses on Derek.

* * *

Derek realizes the second after he says it that reminding Stiles of how tight he is probably sounds _really_ dumb right now. His dick is _lodged_ in Stiles' ass right now; of _course_ he's tight. And the look that Stiles gives him is one that Derek initially takes to mean 'no shit dumbass', but instead Stiles' voice is tight with a pleasure that Derek hadn't been expecting to hear. He blinks a few times, still struggling to focus with the rhythmic clenching and twitching around his dick. He's stretching Stiles. God, Derek can only imagine what that feels like. But Stiles doesn't sound angry, just playful. And when he laughs, Derek bites back a small groan at the flare of pleasure, but he doesn't deny Stiles his kiss.

He doesn't blame Stiles for asking if he'd been aware of this, but Derek's mind feels a little like it's shot out of his dick at the moment. He feels dazed, a little blissed out, and the desire to pull Stiles in close and rock his hips is still an instinctual thing whether Derek understands it or not. Derek's honestly about to deny it, to claim that he _hadn't_ known about this. But then Stiles machine-guns a few more questions at him and Derek feels that small spark of uncertainty within. He's got no answers. All he's got are instincts, urging him to nuzzle, to bite, to rock his hips, to keep Stiles close.

Which... now that Derek's thinking about it, might be answers on their own. He remembers what he'd thought _before_ the pleasure, how he'd been suddenly certain that Stiles is _it_ for him. Though his mind feels sluggish, he tries to connect the dots he knows are there. Something is stirring in his memory. Derek wets his lips, and as he does, he finally _does_ draw Stiles down closer, allowing his hips to rock slowly.

"Not... not really. I don't think anyone ever told me about knotting before. I could ask, but... I don't think I _ever_ want to do that."

Asking Peter would be the easiest choice, but that would also be _Hell_. God, Derek isn't going to do that. "But... it feels instinctual. And I... remember my parents talking about how things would be _different_ if I was ever lucky enough to..." Derek's lips twist, half-embarrassed, half-uncertain. "To, uh. Find my... mate."

As soon as the word is out, Derek doesn't know _how_ he knows, but he _knows_ that's it. It _feels_ like it's right.

* * *

It's intense and Stiles doesn't know entirely what to do or say in this kind of situation. What's appropriate? What's inappropriate? Is there even an appropriate response to go to? Maybe firing off questions isn't it, but he's never been especially good at keeping his questions in. This is new. This is crazy. He wants to know more about it. So he's asked.

Stiles can tell that it feels really fucking good for Derek, too. Derek's eyes are a little unfocused, his expression, while a little bewildered, is still super pleased and Stiles likes it. He's pretty sure this is the longest time they've been uh, attached after the orgasms have rolled out, but he doesn't mind it. It's another level of intimacy -- a different kind of intimacy. It gets even more real when Derek for whatever reason pulls him closer and rocks a bit. Stiles shudders, feeling frissons of sensitivity cut through him as his prostate is nudged differently.

And Stiles isn't surprised that Derek doesn't want to ask about it. It's obvious that Peter would be the go-to and that kind of conversation - while it would be hella amusing - sounds awkward as fuck for Derek (and not even Stiles is that mean). Derek continues on, mentioning instincts and his parents and Stiles tries to compose himself enough to pay attention because Derek _never_ talks about his parents and this could be important--

_Mate._

The word shines in Stiles' mind like a lit up Christmas tree. Warmth bursts through him at the thought and then realization that it's fucking true. How could it not be? A smile breaks out on Stiles' face and before his mouth can ramp up, he decides to kiss his approval into Derek. It's a sweet, light kiss, a few repeated pecks because Stiles can't help but feel excited about this grand reveal.

"I think it's cool and I'm glad it's me. Obviously you have good taste," Stiles beams. "And because I'm your mate, you know what that means right?" Eyebrows waggle before he continues. "You gotta take me out on a real date."

* * *

Mate. Stiles Stilinski is Derek's mate. The word feels impossible in Derek's mind as he lays there with Stiles on top of him, but despite the impossibility, he knows that's what this is. His instincts are primed and feel full and present. There's joy burning in his chest in a way that he's not used to. The urge to nuzzle in close and bite are still strong, and Derek knows he's going to have to deal with that at some point. But before he can even think of bringing it up, he catches the look on Stiles' face and Derek watches as understanding and warmth filter in.

The sight of Stiles' warmth, the look on his face... _that_ is what really drives this home. Derek watches, warmth and awe touching down in his own chest, and when Stiles leans in and kisses him, Derek doesn't hesitate to do the same. He returns each kiss, sluggish as it is due to how he feels, but each kiss is real and _important_.

And then Stiles jokes and some of the tension breaks. Derek's shoulders relax, and it doesn't matter that the low level of pleasure is still hitting him, still pulsing lazily through him. Stiles' humor and his eventual decision make Derek smile. It's small, maybe a little awkward, but Stiles seems _okay_ with this. That means a lot.

"You want me to take you out on a real date," Derek echoes, and though he sounds dubious, there's warmth in his eyes. His instincts keep telling him to roll his hips, so he does, though his arms do reach up to wrap around Stiles, pulling him in closer. "Like... at a restaurant. Around people. You think that's a good idea?"

* * *

Mate. He's Derek's mate. It's like destiny or fate or something. Stiles hadn't known about mates in relation to werewolves. Now, he'd actually suck it up and bug Peter for any potential answers. But that's for later. Right now Stiles lets the warmth of the knowledge settle over him like a blanket. Derek is so real right now, so bared for him and Stiles feels high on love if that's even possible. It's still intense, it's still almost too much, but Stiles likes the idea of being able to adjust and take it, to be able to grow and accommodate.

Maybe joking isn't the right or appropriate action to take, but Stiles doesn't mean it maliciously. Humor has always been his go-to thing. It's his schtick and Derek knows it. Stiles likes that he can joke during sexy times anyway. It's a good sign. He doesn't think sex has to always be serious or completely sexual. Sex should feel natural and humor is natural for him and it doesn't seem to throw Derek off. This is why they're mates.

Stiles can feel Derek relax a little under him and the smile Derek wears is hesitant but it's a start, okay? A smile is good. And Derek chooses to play along with him. When Derek rolls his hips and arms pull him closer, Stiles groans softly and clenches purposefully around Derek's cock (and knot).

"Yes, around people," Stiles shakily murmurs as he ducks his head in and nudges Derek's stubbled cheek with his nose. "Because I'm proud of you and us and I love you and I'm worth it." Stiles huffs. "Okay, I did just quote a beauty commerical, but whatever. I _am_ worth it and you are too."

Love and relationships aren't necessarily easy or unmessy, but Stiles knows they're worth it. Whatever the fall brings, whatever the supernatural brings, he's sticking with Derek and he knows Derek has his back.

* * *

A real date. Stiles wants Derek to take him on a real date, like a real couple. The concept is hard to wrap his head around even though it shouldn't be. Aren't they a real couple now? Don't they love each other? It doesn't matter that the words still feel a little terrifying in Derek's mind, it doesn't make them any less true. But a real date means going out with real people and presenting themselves in public. Derek doesn't know if that's something he wants to do. Tonight... tonight had been fine. He'd liked it, even if watching The Goonies hadn't been his idea of a good date.

But Derek's concerns suddenly feel a little less important when Stiles' muscles clench down around his cock. Derek's gasp is low and drawn out, his hands gripping Stiles' hips a little harder. He's still shocked how good it feels, and right now, Derek's pretty sure he'd give Stiles anything. It likely doesn't bode well for the future, but that they _have_ a future is enough to make Derek feel good. He feels warm. And so, when Stiles settles down against him and noses in against his cheek, his voice low, his body warm, Derek finally lets himself relax again.

Maybe it'll be strange going out with Stiles. Maybe people will stare or judge or wonder. Looking at Stiles now, his face flushed, his hair gently mussed from sex, their combined scents in the air, Stiles actually _knotted_ to him, Derek suddenly doesn't care. Stiles smells like him. Stiles is _his_. Derek _wants_ people to know. Maybe it'll be awkward, maybe he'll be awful at it, but as Derek looks up at Stiles and sees the lazy warmth on his face, he thinks maybe it'll be worth it.

"Yeah," Derek finally says, winding both arms comfortably around Stiles. He doesn't say what he's agreeing with. Stiles is definitely worth it. Derek? He'll get there someday. "Yeah, all right. I'll take you out on a real date. But when we get looks, just remember: you asked for it."

Derek's tone is half-gruff, but there's warmth in his eyes. And before either of them can add more in, before Stiles can insist or huff, and before Derek can talk himself out of it, Derek turns his head. He noses at Stiles' cheek, then tilts his head. Catching Stiles' lips in a kiss, Derek holds it and savors it.

 _This_ is worth it. Derek's not going to give this up for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have liked this, please consider reblogging it on tumblr [here](http://merrythought.tumblr.com/post/179484358858/worth-it-series-part-1-bottle-rocket-rating) and/or leave a comment/kudo! ♥


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